#i’ve been trying to describe this to my friend for weeks. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nhlclover · 2 months ago

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ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR QUINN HUGHES

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader, (little bit of) jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: trevor invites you to a lakehouse for the summer, attempting to set him up with his friend. however, the summer doesn't go to plan when you meet his older brother who captures your eye and flips everything upside down.

warnings: very obviously angst, sort of a love triangle, jack and quinn kind of hating each other, slow burn, reader and trevor having a sibling type relationship, one singular kiss, brief appearances from trevor & luke

word count: 11.6k

notes: wooooo mama this is the absolute longest thing i've ever written. i really hope you guys enjoy it, i'm pretty happy with this.

The scene of the lake house standing tall in front of you was something straight out of your imagination. It was picturesque, the way the large house was nestled amongst the pine trees and the glimmering water sparkling behind it. It was just the way that Trevor had described it when he invited (or rather insisted) you to come to his buddy’s lake house this summer.

“You’ll love it! It’s so nice up there,” Trevor had urged, his enthusiasm infectious. You could still hear his voice, brimming with excitement. “It’s my friend Jack’s place. You guys would get along great! And his brothers are super chill too.”

At the time, you’d felt a mix of curiosity and skepticism. It’d been about three years you’d been friends with Trevor, long enough to know that when his tone got this excited and he was this insistent, he was up to something.

“Are you trying to set me up with him?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously at Trevor as the two of you sat in a coffee shop a few months ago. He had been uncharacteristically fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down while stirring his iced coffee with an unnecessary amount of focus.

Trevor had grinned at you in that annoyingly charming way he did when he was caught. “Nooo, I’m just saying you guys would vibe. He’s a cool guy. Super chill.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And his brothers?”

“Also cool!” Trevor leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But listen, Jack’s the one I think you’d really like. Just come for like, a week or two, see what happens. No pressure. I promise you’ll have fun.”

You’d hesitated, not entirely convinced. But Trevor knew exactly how to play on your curiosity, and a month later, you found yourself packing a bag for a summer getaway at some lake house owned by Trevor’s friend, Jack. Despite your reservations, a part of you was intrigued. What if Trevor was right?

The drive to the lake house had been a blur, punctuated by Trevor’s nonstop chatter and your own uncertain silence. You weren’t opposed to meeting Jack. Trevor had sung his praises for months, claiming you two had more in common than either of you realized. As far as setups went, this wasn’t terrible — you could trust Trevor to have good judgment. But still, you were unsure and slightly uneasy about the whole situation.

When you arrive, Jack is already waiting outside, leaning against the porch rail, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He’s smiling — an easy, laid-back smile that makes you smile back automatically. The sun filters through the trees, casting warm, gold light on the porch, and for a moment, everything feels serene.

Trevor wasn’t lying when he commented about Jack’s appearance. “Some people call him a pretty boy but… I mean he is pretty, but he’s a good-looking dude, y’know?” He was definitely attractive, something anyone could admit you thought, but he wasn’t totally your type.

Trevor bounds up the steps of the porch, dapping up Jack and pulling him in for a hug. You followed, stopping at the bottom of the steps, watching as Trevor whispered something into Jack's ear, Jack’s eyes catching yours as a small smile appeared on his lips.

Jack steps forward, extending a hand. “Hey, you must be y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, his voice warm with that relaxed confidence you’d expect from someone who’s used to being the center of attention.

You shake his hand, feeling the easy smile on your face widen a little. “All good things, I hope.”

Trevor laughs, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “Mostly good things.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Jack offers to give you a quick tour of the place, and you agree, letting him guide you inside while Trevor stays back, grumbling to himself about having to bring in your bags. The inside of the house is as beautiful as the outside, with high ceilings, wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake. Despite being a new build, it has a cozy, rustic feel to it. Jack pointed out each room as you went, keeping up a steady flow of conversation that put you at ease. He was friendly and thoughtful, making sure you felt welcomed, and it struck you as genuine. You could see why Trevor thought you’d get along with him.

“And this is the back deck,” Jack said as he pushed open a sliding door, revealing a sprawling view of the lake, with a dock stretching out in front of the property. The lake is glittering and relatively calm, aside from a figure disturbing the water. You squint, watching as the swimmer glides smoothly through the lake.

“Who’s that?” you ask Jack, eyes not leaving the figure as you watch him pull himself up onto the wooden dock, pushing dark wet hair from his face.

“That’s Quinn,” Jack says, following your gaze and glancing out toward the dock. “My older brother.”

The sun seems to linger on Quinn’s form, highlighting the toned muscles in his arms as he stretches briefly, rolling his shoulders to ease out any lingering tension from his swim. Droplets of water cling to his skin, catching the sunlight and tracing down his chest in slow, winding trails emphasizing the smooth contours of his muscles as they glisten.

“Q!” Jack shouts, whistling to get his brother’s attention. Quinn’s gaze snaps to the two of you, your pulse quickening as his eyes land on you. “Come up here!”

Quinn grabs his towel from the dock, throwing it over his shoulder as he makes his way up the lawn towards you. As he climbs the steps to the deck, you feel his eyes travel over you, not in a way that feels intimidating, but with a curiosity that mirrors your own. There’s something magnetic about him, something calm and steady that draws you in as he steps up onto the deck, his mouth curving into a small, barely-there smile.

“This is Trevor’s friend, y/n. She’s joining us for the summer” Jack introduces.

As Quinn’s gaze flickers back to you, you notice there’s something about the way he looks at you — subtle, assessing. His gaze has a certain depth, a look you can’t quite decipher. It lingers just a second longer than what feels typical, enough to make your heartbeat skip, to leave you questioning the flicker of interest in his expression.

“Nice to meet you,” Quinn says, his voice low and smooth, a perfect complement to the quiet confidence he exudes. He reaches out to shake your hand, and as your fingers meet, you notice how warm his touch feels, even with the cool water droplets still lingering on his skin.

Up close, he’s even more striking. There’s a sort of ruggedness to him, outlined by the sharpness of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, a greenish shade of blue, hold yours with a calm intensity that makes it hard to look away.

“Nice to meet you too,” you manage, your voice coming out softer than you intended, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You mentally kick yourself, hoping he doesn’t notice, but the glimmer in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Jack, oblivious to the undercurrent, clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Alright, well, there’s more to see, and if we don’t get back, Trevor’s going to start whining about being abandoned,” he joked.

You chuckle, your eyes pulling away from Quinns’ for the first time since he joined you on the porch. But as you turned to follow Jack back inside, you couldn’t help but glance back at Quinn. He was still watching you, his expression softened just slightly, and you felt a quiet thrill at the way he watched you.

The first week at the lakehouse passes in a flurry of days that blur together in laughter and lakeside relaxation. You fall into an easy routine of swimming, grilling, and long talks on the deck. Jack and Trevor keep things lively, always organizing something, whether it’s an impromptu game of cornhole, a daring cliff dive, or a spontaneous trip into town.

With Jack, the connection forms fast. He’s lighthearted, quick with a joke, and endlessly charming. He keeps you laughing and keeps the vibe lighthearted. His energy is infectious, and he keeps you roped into every activity, whether it’s cliff-jumping or getting you to help him with dinner when it’s his turn. You can tell that Trevor’s plan to get the two of you set up is working for Jack, as he lingers closer, laughs harder at your jokes, and you begin to feel his gaze linger on you just a little too long.

But it’s Quinn who holds your attention in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Quinn is different from Jack in nearly every way. Where Jack is open and quick to draw you into his orbit, Quinn lingers on the edges, observing and listening. When he speaks, it’s with a low, steady voice that commands attention without trying. And unlike Jack’s energy, which feels like the buzz of the sun overhead, Quinn’s is deep and mysterious like the lake.

You find yourself gravitating toward him at every opportunity, captivated by the way he moves through the days with an unruffled calm. The nights at the lake house slip into an easy rhythm, with Quinn and you inevitably being the last ones awake as the both of you are night owls. Most nights, you find yourselves lingering on the porch, wrapped in the gentle hum of crickets and the low whisper of the lake. With the others upstairs, fast asleep, you and Quinn fall into intimate conversations, shared only between the two of you.

One night, you find yourselves tucked away on the porch, the air a little cooler than the other nights. You are curled up on a rocking chair, bundled up in a hoodie you’d borrowed from Jack. Quinn sat across from you, the beer he’d started during dinner going warm in his hand.

Quinn studies you, his eyes catching the faint glow of the porch light as he swirls his bottle absentmindedly. “So,” he begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “What’s California like?” He leans forward, genuinely interested, his voice carrying a warmth that makes you want to spill everything about life on the West Coast.

A soft smile creeps onto your face. “It’s… different from here,” you admit, glancing out at the lake where the moon dances on the still water. “It’s a bit fast-paced. And warm. Lots of sun, lots of people. But sometimes, it feels like everyone’s moving so quickly that you get lost in the crowd.”

Quinn nods, his eyes steady on you. “I get it. I feel the same way about Vancouver sometimes. Coming back here… it just reminds me that there's more than the noise and rush. There’s… balance out here.” He gestures out toward the lake, his voice contemplative. “Like all of this has a way of pulling you back to what matters.”

His words resonate deeply, and you find yourself nodding. “Exactly,” you murmur. “It’s like there’s space to breathe. And you notice things that usually get lost in all the… chaos.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you came. It’s been… good to have you here,” he says quietly, his eyes soft. “We don’t have other people up here often.”

Your heart pounds a little faster at the sincerity in his voice, and for a second, the rest of the world disappears. There’s only Quinn and the quiet lake, and the feeling that he understands you in a way you hadn't expected anyone to. You hold his gaze, feeling the electricity between you grow, filling the silence with something you can’t quite name.

But then, as if drawn back to reality, Quinn’s eyes shift, his expression subtly changing. “And Jack,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “He… really likes you, you know? He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

It feels like a splash of cold water. You break eye contact, pulling your hoodie closer around you, the warmth you felt moments ago dissipating. The weight of Jack’s interest hangs heavily between you and Quinn now, an undeniable reminder of the complicated line you’re toeing.

“Right, yeah…” you reply softly, looking down, your voice tinged with a mix of guilt and frustration. You hadn’t meant for this to get complicated, yet here you are, caught between two brothers who couldn’t be more different.

An uncomfortable silence settles over you both, thick and heavy. Quinn’s eyes linger on you, as if he’s about to say something more, but he holds back. His lips press into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same conflict, the same confusion that’s twisting knots inside you.

You force yourself to look away, swallowing hard. “I think… I should probably head to bed,” you murmur, avoiding his gaze. You stand up, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

Quinn nods, his expression unreadable as he watches you ebb towards the door. “Goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze — disappointment, perhaps, or longing. You slip inside, leaving him on the porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back as you close the door.

In bed, you toss and turn, Quinn’s words and the feel of his gaze lingering with you. Your mind is a whirlwind, caught between the easy, carefree friendship that’s growing with Jack and the simmering tension you feel with Quinn. Jack is perfectly nice and, like Trevor told you, the two of you were getting along swimmingly.

But no matter how much you try, your thoughts always drift back to Quinn. There’s something undeniably different about him, something that makes it impossible to feel the same way about Jack, no matter how hard you try. Jack’s presence is light and friendly but with Quinn… it’s like there’s a hidden gravity pulling you toward him, a quiet understanding that lingers beneath the surface of every conversation. Every night on that porch, he’s become your anchor, drawing you into a world that feels more honest, more intimate.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the way he looked at you tonight — that almost undetectable spark that you’re sure you didn’t imagine. The way he listens to you, like every word matters, as he sees past the small talk and into the parts of you you rarely share. There’s no pretending with Quinn. And even though he’d mentioned Jack, it only made you realize how much more you’re drawn to Quinn. Jack might be developing feelings for you, but it’s Quinn who fills your thoughts, who leaves you breathless in a way you can’t ignore.

You pull the covers tighter around you, willing sleep to take you, but every thought seems to lead back to Quinn, to the way he made you feel seen, understood — even in silence.

The next morning, you do your best to shake off the lingering tension from the night before, determined to keep things light and normal. Under Jack’s enthusiastic suggestion, the group decides to spend the day out on the lake, hoping the sun and water will wash away any unease. It’s a sunny day, warm with a light breeze, and the water sparkles invitingly under the sunlight, making you think that everything might just go smoothly.

The boat is anchored in a calm spot on the lake and, despite the wonderful weather, there doesn’t seem to be another boat around. Trevor and Luke sit up in the bow, arguing about which mascot would win in a fight between Mr. Clean and Tony the Tiger.

Jack is quick to pull you into the action, handing you a beer from the cooler as he grins. “Alright,” he says, his smile as wide as the lake. “Are you ready for the full lake house experience? Because to really do that, you’ve got to jump off the boat at least once today.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you crack open the can. “I’m pretty sure you’re just making up rules to mess with me.”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Maybe, but you have to do it anyway,” he shrugs.

Trevor chimes in, chuckling from his spot. “Jack’s right, y/n. First-time lake visitors have to jump. It’s tradition!”

You chuckle, your gaze drifting up to Jack as he stands in front of you. The sun shines directly behind him, casting him in a golden halo, the bright rays spilling around his frame in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. For a moment, you can see why anyone would fall for that charm. But even with this picture-perfect moment, you feel a pang of regret that you can’t feel more for him, because, somehow, your thoughts are pulled elsewhere and on someone else.

Jack’s laughter brings you back to the moment, and he leans a little closer. “Come on, we can make it a team effort. I mean, if you’re too nervous, I can just hold your hand.” His voice is playful, but there’s a hint of sincerity in his words, a hope that you’ll let him bridge the gap he’s trying so hard to close.

Your smile is genuine, but before you can respond, you hear Quinn's low chuckle from behind you. It’s soft, barely audible over the hum of the boat’s motor, but enough to pull your focus completely away from Jack. You glance back at Quinn who’s sat on the back bench, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a flicker of something in his gaze as it bears down on the two of you.

Your attention is pulled back to Jack as he reaches for your hand in a gesture that feels both playful and pointed. “Come on, y/n, it’ll be an official initiation. We’ll jump together, yeah?”

Your gaze flickers between Jack’s outstretched hand and Quinn, who’s watching with an inscrutable expression, his eyes narrowed slightly as he leans back, crossing his arms. You can’t deny there’s an awkward tension here, a silent push-and-pull between the two brothers that seems to amplify whenever Quinn is nearby.

Swallowing the strange, charged feeling building between you all, you look back at Jack and nod, forcing a lighthearted smile as you stand up, pulling off the oversized t-shirt you wore as a coverup. You see Jack’s eyes scan your figure, hearing him gasp quietly. You blush, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, taking his hand. He grins in triumph, his fingers warm against yours as he helps you stand at the edge of the boat. He holds on a little tighter than necessary, and the flicker of anticipation in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ready?” Jack asks, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering a bit too long as he watches your expression. There’s a hopeful vulnerability in his face, a look that makes you hesitate for a moment. You don’t want to hurt him, but there’s a part of you that wishes he’d pull back, that he’d realize you’re not as invested in this connection as he is.

You manage a nod, hoping he doesn’t notice the small sigh you let slip. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He beams, counting down with a quiet “three… two… one!” before the two of you leap into the lake together, the cool water rushing up to meet you. When you surface, you’re greeted by Jack’s laughter as he splashes you, pulling you into a playful water fight. You laugh along, though your eyes instinctively drift toward the boat, where Quinn looks over the edge, watching you both with an unreadable expression.

Jack’s laughter fades slightly as he notices your attention elsewhere, his face falling for a fraction of a second. But he quickly masks it, pulling you back with a light splash. “Hey, stay with me here,” he says, his tone half-joking, half-pleading. And you want to, you really do, but Quinn’s gaze is magnetic, and you can’t help but feel pulled toward him, as if there’s an invisible thread between the two of you.

Eventually, Jack climbs back onto the boat, reaching out to help you up. But the moment you step back on board, the charged silence returns, thick and stifling, as Quinn hands you a towel, his fingers brushing against yours just long enough to send a spark up your arm. You catch his gaze for a brief second, and you’re struck by the quiet intensity in his eyes, a longing that mirrors your own.

Jack clears his throat, his shoulders tensing slightly as he glances between you and Quinn. He lets out a forced laugh, trying to dispel the tension. “Alright, what’s next? We could always do another round of jumps, or maybe a swim to the dock?” He says it with an almost desperate cheerfulness, trying to regain your attention, trying to keep the moment light.

Trevor and Luke, sensing the tension, start bantering about who would be the fastest swimmer, their playful arguments distracting you all for a moment, lightening the mood just enough.

────୨ৎ────

The night air was crisp as laughter and the crackling of the fire filled the space around the lake house. The lake is quiet behind you, a dark, glassy surface reflecting only starlight. You were settled in a lawn chair, leaning back, watching as Trevor dramatically recounted a story about when you nearly crashed his car.

You could feel his eyes on you, searching for a shared smile, hoping to catch your gaze even as he chuckled at Trevor’s theatrics. Every so often, he'd lean in, commenting with a low murmur meant only for you. He’d even offered you his hoodie earlier, though the night wasn’t nearly cold enough to need it. It was endearing, if not a bit overeager. Yet, despite the obvious attention from him, your focus kept drifting across the fire.

Quinn sat across the flames from you, leaning back in an Adirondack chair. His attention was barely on the story, barely laughing with the others as you had been. Every now and then you’d catch his eyes flicker your way, lingering on you just long enough to send a thrill through your chest. Your stomach tightened with a quiet anticipation each time, though as quickly as the moment arrived, it vanished. Quinn’s gaze would shift, his attention lost somewhere in the darkness beyond the flames, leaving you wondering if you’d only imagined it.

As Trevor finally wrapped up his tale with an exaggerated flourish, the group’s laughter rang out again, filling the quiet night. You shifted in your chair, stealing a glance across the fire to see Quinn looking your way again, his expression unreadable in the dancing light. The firelight cast soft shadows over his face, illuminating his quiet intensity—a contrast to Jack’s open interest. And just as quickly as his eyes met yours, he looked away, his focus deliberately elsewhere, leaving you feeling a subtle ache of frustration.

Jack nudged your arm gently, his voice breaking the spell. “Hey, want to grab a drink or something? I think I saw some ciders in the cooler on the porch.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you replied, a small smile curving your lips as you pushed yourself up to join him.

You could feel the weight of Quinn’s gaze on you, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. As you walked toward the porch with Jack, a pang of prickling guilt settled over you, leaving a heavy shadow with every step. Jack was wonderful — funny, kind-hearted, and clearly eager to spend time with you. And yet, there was an emptiness in each smile you returned to him, a hollowness you couldn’t ignore. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself to appreciate his warmth and interest. But you couldn’t deny it. There was no spark, no unspoken gravity that pulled you toward him.

The two of you reached the porch, Jack handing you a cold can from the cooler, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He shot you a quick grin, the kind that seemed to hold a hundred different things he wanted to say. But the look in his eyes—the hopefulness, the eagerness—only tightened the knot in your chest.

Jack took a sip of his drink, leaning casually against the porch railing, his gaze still on you. “It’s nice here at night, isn’t it?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable softness to his voice, as though he wanted nothing more than to keep this moment between just the two of you.

“Yeah, it really is,” you agreed, looking out at the lake rather than meeting his eyes. “It’s peaceful.”

Jack’s voice was quieter when he spoke this time like he was mulling something over. “You know, it’s been great having you up here. I mean…I’m glad Z brought you here.” he said softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a vulnerability there, one that made you want to reassure him, to ease the sting of your own uncertainty.

You wanted to tell him you felt the same, that you were excited, that his attention filled you with butterflies. But it didn’t. Not the way Quinn’s lingering gaze did, not in the way his silence could reach across the fire and wrap around you more tightly than any words Jack could offer.

And Jack could sense it. You could see it in the way his gaze fell just a bit, in the way he seemed to retreat into himself, trying to figure out where he’d lost you. A soft, sinking guilt bubbled up, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and looked at you, trying to keep the mood light.

“Should we head back?” he asked, giving you a small smile that tried to mask the disappointment behind his eyes.

You nodded, and as you followed him back toward the fire, your eyes drifted back to Quinn. Why did he have to make it so complicated? Jack was there, warm and steady, giving you his full attention, yet your heart kept tugging you toward Quinn — Quinn, who never gave you more than half-glances and unspoken hints. It was as though he knew the effect he had on you but chose to keep you guessing, leaving you in this restless, uncertain state. And every time he looked away, your chest would ache with a longing that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

You felt like you were making it up in your head. You felt like all of this was just concocted by your brain, a made-up situation. But then you’d think back to the nights when it was just the two of you, sitting across from one another on the porch, finding bits of commonality, causing you to talk for hours.

It was during those quiet nights, with only the soft hum of the lake and the occasional call of night birds, that the two of you would sit just a little closer, voices lowered as if sharing secrets with the stars. He’d be calm, reserved, but there’d always be a hint of a smile when you teased him about his stoic nature, a glint in his eyes when he’d challenge you back. It was in these moments that your doubts faded, that all the confusion seemed worth it.

But then the sun would rise again, and Quinn’s indifference would come back like the morning mist, blanketing any closeness you thought you’d found. The spark that seemed so real under the cover of night would dim, replaced by his guarded demeanor and quiet aloofness. It was maddening, this cycle of near-closeness followed by a cool retreat. He’d show you just enough to make you wonder, to keep you holding onto the memory of his quiet smile and that soft look in his eyes.

As you and Jack rejoined the group, you settled back into your chair, glancing across the fire toward Quinn once more. He was looking down, a hand idly fiddling with the edge of his sweater. There was something vulnerable about him in that moment, something that made you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same hesitation and uncertainty. You wanted to bridge that gap, to ask him if he ever felt the same tug, the same strange pull that made every shared glance linger in your mind.

But before you could even entertain the idea, Jack’s hand brushed your shoulder, pulling your attention back to him. He was smiling, his gaze as steady and warm as ever, making you wish you could return it with the same openness.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack asked, concern lacing his voice. You hadn’t realized the way you were chewing on your lip, or the way your brow was furrowed ever so slightly.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile that you hoped looked genuine. “Yeah, just…lost in thought, I guess.”

But as you said it, your gaze slipped across the fire once more, finding Quinn’s eyes fixed on you with that familiar, unreadable intensity. And for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a softness there, a hint of something deeper. It vanished just as quickly, but that one look was enough. It was enough to make you cast away the doubt that lingered in your mind, to dismiss the thought that this was all in your head.

The night dragged on, punctuated by laughter and more ridiculous storytelling from Trevor. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to call it a night. Luke was the first to slip away, yawning as he muttered something about wanting to have an early workout, clapping Trevor on the shoulder before heading inside. Trevor followed soon after, stretching with exaggerated laziness before flashing a grin and winking at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble out here,” he teased, earning a playful eye-roll from you.

Finally, it was just you, Jack, and Quinn. Jack was lingering, his eyes occasionally drifting to you with a look that hinted at something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring himself to voice. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he looked at you, then glanced over at Quinn.

"Alright, I guess I’ll head in, too," Jack finally said, his tone reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for just a beat too long, as though he wanted you to ask him to stay or tell him that you would head up with him. But you didn’t, and after a quiet sigh, he nodded, gave Quinn a brief glance, then turned and headed inside, the screen door shutting softly behind him.

And then it was just the two of you.

The quiet stretched between you and Quinn, thick and tense, as the night air settled into a stillness that seemed to wrap around you both. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the trees, and it was painfully quiet, each unspoken word between you two heavy with meaning. You could feel his presence, magnetic and steady, even across the fire. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you drew a deep breath and decided to speak.

“Quinn, can we talk?” Your voice was steady, but just barely. Quinn’s eyes finally locked with yours for the first time since before everyone began to filter to bed. Quinn nodded after a couple of seconds, giving you the silence to continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us,” you said softly. “But… fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to know if it’s all just in my head or if you feel it too. Because if there’s a reason I feel this way… I need to know.”

You trailed off, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words hung in the air between you. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, his face softened by the glow of the firelight. Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared into the flames. His silence was torture, each passing second pulling you deeper into a pit of anxiety and frustration.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, as if he’d rehearsed this response in his mind countless times. “It’s not in your head,” he admitted, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. “There’s something here, between us. I feel it too.”

The words sent a rush of relief and hope through you, a spark that reignited all those moments spent wondering and waiting for some kind of sign. A soft smile spread across your face, the edges of your doubt finally beginning to soften. But then, his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth tightening as he looked away, eyes fixed on the shadows just beyond the firelight.

“But…” His voice was barely a whisper, rough around the edges. “It can’t go anywhere. Not with Jack. He’s…he’s into you.” He looked back at you, the regret in his eyes evident, a pain mirrored in your own chest. “I can’t do that to him.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and the warmth of the fire suddenly felt distant, fading into a cold, empty ache spreading through your chest. You hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping he’d say the opposite, that he’d fight for whatever was happening between you.

You dropped your gaze, feeling foolish, vulnerable, exposed. “So that’s it? We just… pretend this doesn’t exist?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like nothing’s been happening all this time?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his expression pained. “I don’t want to pretend. But I can’t… I won’t hurt him, not like that. He’s my brother.” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. “And he really cares about you.”

You swallowed hard. It felt ridiculous—being here, feeling so foolishly hopeful, only to be left with a hollow ache and a fractured connection that couldn’t ever be more. Part of you wanted to yell at him for leading you on, for those late-night conversations and stolen glances, for every unspoken word that now felt like a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it could be different.”

The words left you hollow. Part of you wanted to fight, to tell him that what you felt couldn’t just be ignored, but another part — the part that knew him and understood his loyalty — couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to choose you over his brother. Not when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain that mirrored your own.

“Fine,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. You stood up, the cool night air prickling your skin as you walked away from the fire, leaving him there in silence. You didn’t look back. It felt like your chest was filled with broken glass, each breath painful, as you made your way back to the house.

Inside, the stillness was almost suffocating. The others had already gone to bed, and the darkened living room felt cold and empty, mirroring the ache in your heart. You climbed the stairs to your room, shutting the door softly behind you as you sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. A mix of anger and sadness filled you. You were mad at Quinn, for drawing you in only to push you away; mad at Jack, for being in the way even if he hadn’t meant to be; mad at Trevor, for ever convincing you to come here; and, perhaps most of all, mad at yourself, for letting your heart hope for something that could never be.

The next morning, a heavy quiet blanketed the lake house. You moved through the motions of breakfast with the others, but your thoughts felt distant, lost somewhere between the memories of last night and the weight of Quinn’s words. The morning was made slightly easier by the absence of Quinn who you were told went into the town early that morning to run errands and hit the gym. The guys bantered and talked about heading out on the boat, planning an afternoon on the lake, but you could only muster half-hearted nods and polite smiles. It was hard to focus, every small sound—the clinking of mugs, the soft scrape of a chair—only intensifying the ache you couldn’t shake.

Excusing yourself, you slipped away before anyone could ask questions, making your way down to the dock. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rippling across the lake's surface, and you sat at the edge, feet dangling above the water. You were still in your sleep outfit, not exactly pyjamas, but rather a comfy oversized hoodie and a pair of mens boxers. The familiar scent of pine and fresh earth surrounded you, but even the peaceful view couldn’t ease the storm of emotions inside.

The quiet was soon broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Jack. You felt him sit beside you, his presence warm and grounding. For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just let the silence settle between you both, as though he was waiting for you to be ready.

Finally, he cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you. “You okay this morning? You’ve been… quiet,” he said softly, his voice tentative, as if he were stepping carefully around broken glass. “Distant.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself as you met his gaze. His eyes were filled with genuine concern, a softness that only made this harder. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking back out at the lake. “Guess I just needed some space.”

Jack nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. His fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the dock, and after a beat, he spoke again, his tone thoughtful, almost nostalgic.

“You know,” he began, eyes cast down at the water, “when Trevor told me he was bringing a friend this summer, he was so sure we’d hit it off. He kept going on about how you and I would be perfect for each other, that we’d get along great.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I remember feeling this weird, excited energy like… maybe he was right, you know? Maybe I was going to meet someone special.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat as he continued, his voice carrying a warmth that was both comforting and deeply bittersweet.

“And when you got here…” He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, as if to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know, it just… felt easy, from the start. Like we’d known each other forever. I started to feel like maybe Trevor had been onto something.” He gave a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Things felt really good between us, and I thought you felt it too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I started to get my hopes up—thinking maybe this was the start of something real.”

You winced, guilt gnawing at you. “Jack… I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I think you’re amazing. From the bottom of my heart, I just… I mean there’s gotta be some sort of spell this fucking house puts me under because I would be insane otherwise to not like you! You… you’re so perfect that any other girl would be scremaing at me, trying to claw my eyes out for not appreciating you. But… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a mix of sadness and resignation settling in them. He looked down, his fingers still drumming but more slowly now, as if grounding himself. After a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I get it,” he murmured, though his voice had an unmistakable crack in it. “I mean… I think I get it. You can’t force something that isn’t there, right?” He gave a sad smile, one that tried to mask the hurt but didn’t quite succeed.

He stared out at the water, his expression distant, like he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong, or maybe just what he’d missed. A tense silence settled between you, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the air around you. Jack cleared his throat, seeming to steel himself, his gaze searching your face as if looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

“Can I… can I just ask you one thing?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His vulnerability in that moment was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding, bracing yourself for what was coming.

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten.

“Do you… have feelings for Quinn?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful, and a part of you wished he hadn’t asked. But the look in his eyes told you he needed to know, that the uncertainty was gnawing at him just as much as the truth might.

Slowly, you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whispered, “Yes.”

A heavy silence fell between you, and Jack seemed to shrink a little, his shoulders slumping as he took it in. Jack’s gaze fixed on the lake, and for a long moment, he said nothing. You could see the effort it took for him to keep his expression neutral, to keep his emotions tightly bound. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“So, you… you and Quinn. Is there… anything actually happening between you two?” He glanced at you, a flicker of something raw in his eyes — hope, maybe, or just the need to understand.

You shook your head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “No, Jack. We’re… we’re not together. We won’t be.”

He looked at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?” he asked softly, his confusion obvious. “If you feel that way about him, why wouldn’t you try?”

You took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Because Quinn… Quinn’s too good of a brother. He’d never go for me because of you… and because of what he knows you feel.”

Jack blinked, his brow furrowing as he took in your words. “Wait—what does that mean? Because of me?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. His gaze softened, and you could see he was fighting to keep his tone steady, like he was trying not to hope.

You sighed, feeling a bittersweet ache settle in your chest. “Quinn told me he could never be with me because he knows how you feel. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face. “So… let me get this straight,” he muttered, almost incredulously. “He’s not doing anything about how he feels—because of me?”

You nodded, and Jack fell silent, staring down at his hands, which had stopped drumming and were now clenched tightly in his lap. He seemed deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he processed what you’d just told him. The lake was quiet around you, the stillness broken only by the occasional ripple of water.

For a long time, Jack didn't say anything, just stared down at the water, his brows drawn together. You could almost feel the weight of his thoughts, the way he was wrestling with everything that had just been laid out. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, raw.

“So he… he cares enough to stay away,” Jack said slowly, the words laced with a sadness that felt almost like admiration. “That's… just like him.” He took a deep breath, forcing a small, sad smile. “I wish things were different. I wish we could just rewind, go back to the start of summer and… and pretend this never happened.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking a chord deep within you. “Me too,” you whispered, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this to happen, Jack. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.”

Jack looked over at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the easy, unburdened friendship you’d had in the beginning. “I know,” he murmured. “You’re not the kind of person who’d do this on purpose. It’s just… life, I guess. It’s complicated, ‘n messy as hell. And… maybe Trevor was right. We do get along. Just… maybe not in the way he thought we would.”

He smiled, a genuine one this time, though tinged with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Maybe someday… I won’t feel this way,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the soft lapping of the lake against the dock. “But for now… I think I just need a little space. Time, maybe.”

You nodded, understanding that this was what he needed, even if it hurt to hear. “I get it, Jack. I do.”

Jack gave a nod, his gaze returning to the water, the weight of unspoken words settling over the two of you. In the next moment, he reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze—a quiet truce, an understanding. Then he stood, brushing off his shorts and glancing back at the house.

“I’ll be up at the house for a bit,” he murmured, the distance in his tone unmistakable. With that, he turned and walked back up the dock, his footsteps slow and heavy.

In the following days, there was a noticeable shift in the air; everyone felt it, though no one dared to name it. Conversations were stilted, laughter felt forced, and even the once-lively dinners had become quiet affairs, each of you treading carefully as if one wrong word might shatter the fragile peace that held you all together. Jack avoided you and Quinn as much as he could, lingering at the edge of group activities, his usual easygoing energy replaced by something more closed off, guarded.

Quinn, for his part, kept his distance too, his usual calm presence clouded by an unspoken tension. It was as if he knew that the delicate line he was walking might snap at any moment, sending everything spiraling out of control.

You couldn't ignore the heaviness that had settled over the house, a tangible sense of tension that made everything feel off-kilter. As much as you'd wanted this summer to be an escape, it had become the very opposite — a painful reminder of all the ways things could go wrong.

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself wide awake, thoughts racing. The decision took shape slowly, a reluctant resolve that you couldn’t shake. You needed to leave. Staying here, caught between the fractured pieces of what had been and what could never be, was too much to bear. The thought of facing both brothers day after day, watching Jack’s guarded smiles and Quinn’s restrained distance—it was too much. They deserved space, and, you realized, so did you.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and booked a flight out for two days later, the earliest you could manage. You barely slept, running through potential conversations in your mind, eventually deciding you were only going to tell Trevor and slip out quietly, not wanting to cause anymore issues.

You forced yourself to push through the pain and awkwardness during the two remaining days until you would be returning back to California. As the days inched closer to your departure, the weight of unspoken words grew heavier, settling into every corner of the lake house. You caught glimpses of Jack, his face turning away when he thought no one was watching as if even looking at you and Quinn felt like reopening an unhealed wound. Quinn’s glances were no less fraught, though his were filled with a wistful restraint, as if he was already mourning the loss of something that had barely even begun.

The dinners, once filled with laughter, now passed in subdued tones, each person more focused on their plate than the conversation. You found yourself counting down the days and hours, conflicted between the need to escape the tension and the ache of leaving it all behind. In those last two days, you kept reminding yourself that soon, you’d be on a plane back to California, back to your own life — away from Jack’s pained looks and Quinn’s longing stares.

Your final day there, you packed your belongs up quickly, hoping Trevor would buy your excuse of not wanting to miss your flight as a good reason for him to take you to the airport early, and not because you couldn’t bear to spend one more hour in this suffocating oasis. Everyone else was lounging by the water, with the exception of Jack who lingered in the kitchen, opting to do the dishes rather than be around the others. He was lost in thought when he heard the patio door slide open and shut, the sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood. He turned to the entrance of the kitchen, seeing Quinn wearing his boardshorts and a slightly guarded look.

Quinn stopped at the threshold, eyes flicking briefly to Jack’s hands as he scrubbed the dishes. They were tense, knuckles white around the plate he held, and the silence between them was palpable and heavy. Jack set down the dish with a clatter, bracing himself on the edge of the sink, not looking at Quinn. Jack didn’t give Quinn time to speak. The words erupted from him, fueled by everything he’d been holding back.

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” Jack’s voice was low and seething, barely contained. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t dare let Quinn get a word in. “You’re hurting her, Quinn. A perfectly nice girl, who came here not looking for this mess but got dragged into it anyway. And the worst part is, you know it. You know it, and you’re still just… sitting back like a damn martyr, thinking that by staying distant, you’re somehow making it easier for everyone. That by holding back, you’re sparing her, sparing me.”

Jack’s words cut through the quiet, sharper than the silence that had settled in the house over the past days. The vulnerability in his tone was raw, scraping against Quinn’s stoic expression. Quinn shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt; he only looked at Jack, his gaze unwavering.

“And you know what? I kind of hate you for it,” Jack continued, voice unsteady. He turned his head just enough for Quinn to catch the anger, the hurt in his eyes. “I hate that you waltzed in and just took her from me without even trying. And, yeah, maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I never really had a chance, but she was still there, and I was trying. I was there, damn it!”

Quinn finally took a step forward, but Jack cut him off again, his hands clenching at the counter. “And I hate you for pretending like you’re doing the right thing by telling her nothing will happen. You act like you’re some noble saint by ‘staying away,’ but it’s a lie, Quinn. It’s a lie, and we both know it. You’re holding back because you’re scared — scared to go after what you really want, and in the end, you’re just making it worse for everyone. For her. For me.”

Jack’s voice wavered, then cracked, as he finally fell silent, chest heaving from the force of his confession. The words had cost him, as if each syllable had drawn blood. The only sound in the room was the dripping of the faucet, each drop amplifying the tension between them.

Quinn stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze steady as he absorbed every word. He studied Jack, weighing something unspoken. “Would you hate me if I went for her, then?” His tone was gentle, almost hesitant, a softness that Jack hadn’t been prepared for.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably would.” He ran a hand through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I mean I hate you right now for making her feel the way she does. But it shouldn’t matter, Quinn. Not if you two… if you actually care about each other.” Jack’s voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his own honesty. “Look, I’ll get over it. In time. But don’t waste what could be something good just because you’re trying to spare everyone. It’s pointless, and it’s selfish. You need to get to her before it’s too late.”

Quinn could feel Jack’s anger and pain, an emotion so raw and tangled it clawed at the air between them. For a second, Quinn thought of how different things could have been if he had stayed on the sidelines, if he hadn’t let himself get close to you. But as Jack’s gaze softened, an odd understanding settled between them. Jack wasn’t letting go easily, but he was letting go.

Jack’s shoulders slumped, exhausted, as he ran a hand over his face. “She’s leaving today, you know?” he said to Quinn, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Trev told me last night she booked her flight out for this afternoon.”

Quinn’s face fell, and the guarded look faded, replaced with something dangerously close to panic. He hadn’t known—hadn’t expected that this was it. That today was the end.

“She’s leaving?” Quinn asked, Jack nodding. “Why didn’t she say anything? W-why is she leaving?”

“Because why would she stay?” Jack said. “She’s going to protect herself. She’s not gonna stay here, hoping for something that won’t happen. She’s too smart for that.”

The realization struck Quinn like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. Jack's words echoed in his mind, each one sharper than the last. She’s leaving. Of course, she would. She wasn’t the type to hang around hoping for some half-hearted promise or for Quinn to finally decide what he wanted. She deserved so much more than waiting for him to get his act together.

Jack's voice softened, pulling him back to the present. "Quinn, it’s not too late. She hasn’t left yet. If you really care about her, don’t let her go like this."

Quinn’s gaze faltered, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his expression. Could he really undo the damage he’d done by staying away? Could he find the words to convince her that, despite his silence, he’d felt everything just as deeply as she had?

A heavy silence followed before Quinn found his voice. “What… what should I say to her?”

Jack shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You really think I’m giving you advice on how to get the girl I wanted?”

Quinn’s face softened in a rare, grateful smile. “Fair enough.” He hesitated, then turned, steeling himself as he left the kitchen, leaving Jack to his own fractured thoughts.

Quinn climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing with every step, anticipation and fear warring within him. As he reached the top, he saw Trevor just exiting your room. Trevor paused, giving Quinn a look that held no small amount of concern.

“I don’t know what went down between you three,” Trevor said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I care about her, and I don’t like seeing her like this. You going to fix whatever mess this is?”

Quinn’s chest tightened. He knew Trevor had been close to you, learning this summer just how much of a big brother figure he was to you. He couldn’t fault him for looking out for you.

“I’m going to fix it,” Quinn said, his voice quiet but firm. He met Trevor’s gaze, hoping to communicate the sincerity in his words. “I have to.”

Trevor didn’t say anything else, but he gave Quinn a long, steady look, as though weighing whether to believe him. Then he gave a nod and shifted your duffle bag, stepping aside to let Quinn pass. With a final glance at Trevor, Quinn walked to your door, his heart racing. Quinn stood outside your door for a moment, his hand hovering above the doorknob. He knew what he needed to say, but a part of him feared that the damage was already done. Bracing himself, he knocked gently before pushing the door open.

You were standing by the window, your zipped duffle bag sitting on your bed. Your back was to the door when Quinn entered, and for a moment, he almost turned around, the words caught in his throat. But then you turned, your eyes meeting his.

“Are you really going?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet and strained.

You nodded, stepping away from the window and closer to Quinn. “I think it’s best. This whole summer has just… it’s too much, Quinn. I didn’t come here expecting any of this, and now I just feel… caught. And I can’t keep feeling this way.”

Quinn swallowed, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though he was battling something heavy, words lingering on his lips, waiting to escape. He stepped forward, close enough that you could see the faint circles under his eyes, the fatigue that seemed to pull at his features.

“I didn’t expect any of this either,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And I get it — you’re right. I hurt you. I know that. I thought… I thought if I kept my distance, it would somehow make it easier for everyone. That maybe you'd move on from this — move on from me, and be with Jack. I thought it would hurt less.”

You held his gaze, your voice low but unwavering. “Do you have any idea what that did to me, Quinn? All summer, feeling this… this connection between us, and thinking that I had to be imagining it because you couldn’t even look at me. And you’re saying you did that on purpose? To protect me?” Your voice trembled. “That’s not protecting me. That’s running away.”

Quinn took a shaky breath, stepping closer, his expression taut with regret. “I know I messed up. I was spineless and I should have told you the truth sooner.” Quinn said, bowing his head briefly before forcing himself to look up at your hurt eyes. “I told myself that it was better this way, but all I was doing was lying to myself. Because every time I saw you… every time I heard your laugh, or watched you talk to Jack, or caught you looking at me — I couldn’t breathe.”

Quinn took one last step forward, less than a foot away from you. He raised his hand to reach you, fingertips grazing your arm gently, as if he feared you might pull away. “But I care about you, more than I thought possible. And I was afraid of that. Afraid of hurting Jack, afraid of hurting you… and afraid of wanting you this much.” He swallowed, his voice growing rough. “But I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel. I want to be with you I — I need to be with you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession settling over you like a warm, crushing weight. This was what you’d wanted, but it also brought a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crashing down. You took a small step back, just enough to put some distance between you, needing space to gather your thoughts.

Quinn was saying everything you wanted to hear from the beginning. Laying his feelings bare, and exposing his heart in a way you hadn't expected from someone as reserved as him. It was like seeing a hidden part of him, one he’d kept carefully guarded. The vulnerability in his eyes made it clear that this was as terrifying for him as it was thrilling for you.

But in the back of your mind, Jack lingered, his hurt and disappointment woven into every stolen glance and quiet moment of the summer. The image of his face as he realized how you felt about Quinn was something you couldn’t shake. The memory clawed at you, guilt mixing with the longing Quinn’s words evoked.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,” you said, voice catching. “But Quinn… Jack — he tried so hard with me this summer, and I couldn’t give him what he wanted because of… well, because of you.” You hesitated, torn between the longing in Quinn’s eyes and the memory of Jack’s earnest, hopeful glances. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. And I feel like I’ve done enough damage by just… being here.”

Quinn’s gaze softened, his hand lingering just above your arm, hovering close as if he wasn’t ready to let you go. “I know,” he murmured. “I know it’s complicated. But I talked to Jack this morning. He told me… he told me to come up here and talk to you. To tell you how I felt. He wants you to be happy, and he knows that’s not with him. He’ll get over it.”

“Jack said that?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Quinn nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips, though there was sadness in his eyes. “He might hate me for a while, and I can live with that. But he said I’d regret it if I let you go. And… he was right.”

His hand, warm and steady, traced down your arm, his fingers slipping around yours with a gentle firmness. The touch, gentle but insistent, sent a jolt through you. “I know I’ve messed up,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll make it right. I want this, us… if you do too.”

You nodded, words escaping you as Quinn stepped even closer, his free hand lifting to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you could feel the slight tremor in his touch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

His lips barely brushed yours, soft and tentative. Your breath mingled together briefly before your lips locked together. He lingered for a heartbeat, savoring the closeness as if he, too, couldn’t believe this was real. Then, with a surge of emotion, the kiss deepened, all the restraint and hesitation of the summer dissolving as his hand rose to cradle your cheek, holding you to him as though afraid you might disappear.

His stubble that had grown out over the last couple weeks of summer scraped along your jaw and chin, leaving a faint burn that only added to the rush of sensation.

When you pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you got here,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

You giggled, staying close and feeling his heartbeat echoing against yours. The silence that followed was thick, but it was different now — no longer tense or uncertain like it had been for most of the summer. It felt as though the weight had been lifted from both of your shoulders.

But even in that moment, you knew the reality of what this would mean—for Jack, for Quinn, and for yourself. There was a part of you that still ached, remembering Jack’s quiet disappointment and knowing it would take time to heal the wounds this summer had left behind.

You swallowed hard, raising a hand to Quinns face and brushing aside his dark locks that fell over his eyes. “I still think I need to go,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want this. I do. But I think both of you need time, and maybe I do too. To let everything settle.”

Quinn nodded, understanding settling over his expression. “I get it,” he replied, taking your hand in his and giving your palm a soft kiss. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Take all the time you need.”

Quinn let you slip from his arms, his heart squeezing as he watched you grab your bag and exit the room. As you descended the stairs with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you saw Jack waiting near the door. His expression softened as you approached, a bittersweet smile crossing his face.

“So, this is it?” he asked, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of acceptance.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s best. Thank you, Jack. For understanding. And… for everything.”

Jack gave a short nod, his gaze momentarily flickering towards the stairs where Quinn had stopped to watch from a distance. He returned his gaze to you and managed a small, sincere smile. “Go live your life. I wish you and Quinn all the best.”

You hugged him, both of you holding on just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, you could see the mix of emotions in his eyes, but there was a sense of peace there too. He’d let go, not because it didn’t hurt, but because he genuinely wanted you to be happy. You felt your heart swell, gratitude mixing with the faint sting of regret for the friendship that would never quite be the same. But Jack’s words lifted the weight off your shoulders, letting you and Quinn move forward.

With a final look, you stepped outside, Trevor waiting to drive you to the airport, his brow furrowed in confusion at the way you suddenly had pep in your step, a small smile present on your lips that had been missing for weeks. As the car pulled away, you stole one last glance at the lake house, catching a glimpse of Quinn watching you from the porch. He raised a hand in a small wave, and you returned it, a soft smile on your lips.

This summer hadn’t turned out anything like you’d expected.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #new jersey devils #vancouver canucks #`✦ˑ ✒️ 𓂃⊹ my works #qh43 #jh86

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luludeluluramblings · 6 months ago

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Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part One

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’ve been hyper fixated on Batfam and DC in general for the past two months, and this is what my brain has been cooking. This is based on an fem!OC I made, but I converted it to GN!Reader. Or attempted to. Might write an official one with the oc. I don’t know. I’m new at this stuff and doing this on mobile to boot.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

Reader grows up happy, healthy, a safe away from Gotham

Momma and Daddy (step-father) adore their darling reader

Daddy is kind and understanding; gives good advice, encourages reader, comforts reader after nasty break ups

Momma is sassy and a bit possessive of her baby reader

Momma never tells reader anything about their biological father (He was a big city playboy that missed the court date for custody is all she said)

Reader has a much younger half-brother from Momma and Daddy, who reader also adores

Little Brother’s are annoying, but you have so many interest in common

Suddenly Momma and Daddy are dead; (tragic accident or murdered)

Reader’s Bio Father, Bruce Wayne is called and flies into town via Private Jet and whisk you off to Gotham

Bruce can’t get custody over half-brother due to Reader’s step-grandparents fighting him.

(They tried to keep Reader too, but blood is thicker than water in the eyes of the court. And, Bruce has enough money to make that water run dry)

Bruce isn’t exactly like Momma described, he’s distant and a bit cold with reader. (Like he doesn’t know what to do.)

Bruce gets upset when Reader talks about missing Momma and Daddy, especially when Reader talks about Daddy.

Bruce doesn’t introduce Reader to the family right away.

Reader doesn’t see anyone, but Bruce and Alfred for the first week at the manor.

Bruce avoids reader, but gets upset when Reader ignores him

Reader starts researching their new family. Everything they can find in the media, even the company.

(Family Buisness funds the Justice League? Gotham gains a new Vigilante almost every time Bruce gains a new kid? Jason Todd’s death and reappearance. Suspicious…)

Reader finally meets the others.

First up Cassandra.

Quite, but watches reader like she knows all of reader’s secrets. (That’s terrifying.)

Reader’s instincts scream that she’s dangerous (Reader trusts those instincts.)

Reader is still nice, they get along. Cass rather be alone, but it’s cool. They’re cool.

Second up is Duke.

Duke is great. Official bro. Passes all the vibe checks. (Most normal one in this house.)

Reader’s meta abilities go haywire around him, so Reader needs to be careful. (Reader’s not sharing that secret yet. Not till they share what Reader suspects is their secret)

Third, Dick and Barbara.

Dick is a whirlwind, coddling and pitying, treating reader like a sweet helpless child then leaving. (He’s a busy popular man)

Barbara is polite, but a stranger.

Reader tries to be friendly, but can’t get past the stranger stage.

Fourth Stephanie.

Stephanie politely ignores reader, but reader genuinely wants to hang out. (Similar interest, close in age. Please, can we be friends? ……….)

Reader says they’ll keep trying (It happens… eventually….)

Fifth, Tim.

Tim just brushes Reader off with a blank look and disappears.

Reader can never find Tim. (Always in the cave, at work, on patrol. He’s a busy busy busy sleepy man that avoids even the mention of Reader)

(Stephanie hangs out with Tim though, but they still ignore reader. It’s fine. Reader is fine. It doesn’t hurt.)

Sixth is Jason.

Jason is mean.

Calls reader spoiled, says reader a an ignorant privileged princess, Daddy’s pet, a brat, etc.

But, then leaves when reader starts to snap back.

(He looks like he’s struggling not to strangle reader almost every time reader sees him.)

Seventh is the youngest and reader’s half brother.

Reader is excited to meet him, reader already has a younger half-brother. Having two sounds even better!

Damian is cruel

It breaks reader’s heart.

Damian either ignores reader, or mocks reader viscously. He’ll push and shove and throw things at reader. (Won’t draw a weaponed though, he’s past that.)

He brushes off all of Reader’s attempts at sibling bonding.

All this goes on for a few months.

Reader tries so hard to get close to everyone, but they’re either avoid them, ignore them, are cruel, or they just don’t have the time.

Reader’s life in Gotham is… different.

Reader’s a commodity, and, surprisingly enough, most people like Reader

School Friendships form, which reader worries are because they’re a Wayne child

(Which is true, but not in the way Reader thinks; hint: it involves other types of night avians)

Teacher’s appreciate a humble Wayne (Damian goes to the same school, Reader is a relief to teach)

Reader is quite talented, not a prodigy, not extraordinary. Just extremely approachable.

But, like all good things there is a downside.

Reader wants to spend time with their new friends.

They’re invited to Galas, lunches, brunches, vacations, shopping, etc.

And Reader WANTS to go

But, Bruce won’t let them

It’s not safe

(Which Reader understands, that’s why they never really explore Gotham, but still brunch couldn’t hurt, right?)

So Reader has no one to lean on or connect with. It’s isolating.

Instead Reader spends hours talking on the phone to their old friends and family back in their small town.

There’s a silver lining though: Things are going to get better before they get worse

So much worse

2K notes · View notes

rinhaler · 1 year ago

Text

𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

would you fuck your high school bully if you got set up on a blind date with him? if he was hot, probably, right?? ... right?

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ex bully!rensuke kunigami x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: a concept that has rotted my brain for weeks now. ty to @chososdoll for beta reading as per ♡ Warnings: 18+, alcohol consumption, pro player!kunigami, pleasure dom!kunigami, consent check, overstimulation ♡, multiple orgasms (duh!), pussy eating ♡, fingering, slight nipple play, dumbification, size difference, vaginal sex, dacryphilia ♡, enemies to lovers?, pool sex ♡, skinny dipping, morning sex ♡, wake up blowjob, shush kink?, praise, reader has pubes! (landing strip), calls your pussy 'she', bullying mention, pet names (baby, princess). Words: 15.1k

“This seems a little…”

“What?”

“Sad.” you laugh, repositioning yourself on the couch beside your best friend as you watch your fourth horror film of the evening. She tuts, but not before gesturing that she needed a refill on her wine. So, you reach over to the side table and start taking off the lid for her. “I don’t know. It feels a bit desperate, no?”

“No!” Maisie objects.

She can’t remember the last time she heard you gush about a guy. And honestly, neither can you. It’s been forever since you went on a date. And it’s been even longer since you got laid. You shake the thought away as you pour the red liquid into her empty glass.

You’re happy alone, for now, you think. It’s not like you feel lonely. Admittedly, it isn’t the best feeling when you have to listen to all of your friends talk about their date nights or cosy nights in with their partners. It isn’t the end of the world, though. Maybe happy is a strong word to describe how you feel.

You’re content being alone.

“I’m not saying you have to marry the guy,” she continues, lifting the wine to her lips when you finish filling her glass. “Just meet him. He’s so sweet, and he’s gorgeous!”

“You fuck him then!” you laugh. She takes the opportunity to flaunt her engagement ring that she hasn’t even had for a week yet. You roll your eyes, but laugh, grabbing her hand so you can examine it again. It is beautiful. Are you a bad friend? Because the stab of jealousy you suddenly feel is almost painful. “I’ve never been on a blind date. I didn’t even realise they were still a thing, why won’t you just show me him?”

“I promise he’s extremely sexy. Trust me, if I wasn’t engaged I’d definitely take him for a ride.” she giggles, and you laugh back at that. She has similar taste to you, so you’re sure you’ll feel the same way when you see him. It’s intimidating though. You’re putting complete faith in her that she won’t fuck you over. And then, you realise, you’re thinking about it as if you’ve already accepted. Maybe it’s a sign. You should just take the plunge. “I don’t want to tell you too much and spoil the fun, but—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Y- really?!” she wiggles a little closer to you in excitement, her wine sloshing in her glass as she approaches. “I’m gonna text him now! Eeeeeeek!” she squeals, putting her wine down and picking up her phone. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her fingers move so fast as she texts the mystery man.

You want to pry for more information, but you know her too well. She’s stubborn. And the blind date aspect for her is too exciting. There’s no use trying to get her to spill. Though it doesn’t stop you from attempting to extract even a slither of information.

“How do you know him?”

“He’s a client.” she pays you no mind, perfectly manicured fingers tap away at her phone as she formulates a text message.

You’re surprised, for multiple reasons. You hadn’t expected her to answer that truthfully, let alone with no hesitation. It came so easy for her to say; which means one of two things. Either, it’s true, or, she had a well-crafted lie prepared in case you asked that very question. But if it’s true… that’s interesting.

She’s a social media manager. And while her clients aren’t necessarily A-Listers, they aren’t exactly nobody’s, either.

“Oh my God, is he a footballer?” you smile, widely. She peers up from her phone and you find it hard to read her expression. She’s always had a good poker face, but you’ve known her long enough to recognise her tells. And when she licks her lips, you have your answer. “AH! Is he rich? Oh I bet he’s gorgeous, fuck, is he shredded? Like—”

“The horny jumped out!” she laughs, and you playfully hit her arm before laughing along with her. She doesn’t say anything else about it. Now, she is fully committed to the blind element of the date. “I’ll drop you off, I’ll tell him what you’re wearing so he knows it’s you. He said he’s free Thursday night, does that work?”

“Sure.”

“Great! So 9PM on Thursday.”

“Um…” you hesitate. Fucking 9PM? You know you aren’t that old, you’re in your mid-twenties for crying out loud, but that seems very late. You’re usually tired by 10 o’clock. But you refuse to risk her chastising you for being boring. So, you suck it up with a beaming smile, “Perfect.” it almost hurts to say.

She claps, enthusiastically, before picking up her abandoned wine glass again. You’re both silent, fixated on the movie. But you spot Maisie out of the corner of your eye finish her drink in a hearty swig. You don’t comment, though, still trying your damnedest to focus on the movie. It’s too late, though, you’ve missed most of the plot since she started plotting and preparing your upcoming date. You don’t dare break the silence, though. She looks utterly engrossed.

However your own attempt at concentrating is thwarted when you hear her glass land a little too harshly onto her coaster. It doesn’t smash, thankfully, but you’re both staring at each other after that.

“I haven’t got a fucking clue what’s happening in this.” she admits, and you laugh, agreeing. “Let’s go plan your outfit for Thursday!” she suggests, throwing the blanket you’re sharing off her body before walking hastily to your bedroom.

This is so her.

She’s more excited for this date than you are.

“Deep breaths, you look gorgeous!” she assures you, holding your hand as you squeeze it again and again to calm your nerves. “For what it’s worth, by the way, he’s my sweetest client. He’s really respectful and kind, a lot of them can be rude but he’s never been like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! He’s really understanding.” she nods, eagerly. “Do you want me to come in and wait with you?”

“No, um… c-can you wait and let me know when he’s coming in? Or, just be here in case I get stood up.”

“Don’t even think that, he’s excited! He’ll be here. I’ll drop him so fast if he does, but I know he won’t.” she assures you.

You take another deep breath before smiling at her. She reaches over to give you a hug. It’s a tight, reassuring squeeze that makes you feel better for a fleeting moment. She waves like a child when you step out of the car, and she wolf whistles before you close the door.

If nothing else, at least you look good. You both agreed that there’s nothing like a little black dress, and your high heels accentuate your legs. They clack as you stomp across the pavement. And when you realise your steps are in time with your heartbeat you think it wise to slow down.

As the entrance to the restaurant comes into view, you look down the street and give your friend one final wave. Though, really, it’s meaningless. You know as soon as you sit down you’ll pull your phone out and start texting her in a panic. The maître d’ welcomes you with a beaming smile, checking the reservation list for the booking strategically made under Maisie’s name.

Still so committed to the blindness of the date.

It’s sort of exciting to think he doesn’t know anything about you, either. Though it’s scaring you slightly that he could take one look at you and turn around. And you won’t know until it’s too late. You won’t know until you’re being pestered to order after telling the wait staff that your date hasn’t arrived yet several times.

They’ll have to be polite despite how humiliating it is to tell you that other patrons need to be seated and seen to and you’re wasting their time. You’ll have to swallow your pride and leave. You can’t possibly eat alone after shouldering such a burning humiliation.

Oh God.

You text Maisie. And your fingers tremble as you type out the message. Telling her that you cannot go through with this and that you’re about to leave. A barrage of texts come through as she tries to give you a pep talk. But your anxiety flares and your leg begins to bounce as you try and shake the nervous energy from it.

Part of you thinks it’s best to stay sober, but your body is screaming differently. One drink won’t hurt, you decide, ordering two glasses of wine in case your date ever turns up.

And then you remember who he is. Or who he might be. He’s a client of your best friend, the social media manager. He must have some level of fame to need that representation. You’re pretty sold on the idea that he is likely a footballer. And through this thought process you manage to relax, if only a little. If he’s famous, he could be busy.

You decide to offer him some grace.

Though you should have given him the time to be really late before you got so worked up. You’ve only been seated for three minutes, after all. It’s not like he’s stood you up for an hour. You decide you’ll give him fifteen minutes before you leave. That’s a suitable amount of time to be able to leave and not look really foolish.

Every person that enters makes your heart race. Is it him? Only to realise it’s a couple or a double date or a family party in tow. You check the time on your phone, nine minutes have passed. Your cheeks fill with air as you puff it out slowly through pursed lips.

YOU: he’s not coming. MAISIE MOO 🐮: dw he just called me! he was stuck in traffic!!! YOU: rly? MAISIE MOO 🐮: yah! should be there any minute, have fun 😉

Your heart rate intensifies again as you see a man walk through the entrance and close an umbrella as he greets the maître d’. It prompts you to look outside, the windows are practically black save for a few lights on in the buildings across the road. But your eyes focus on the fat raindrops and their white outlines as they roll down the glass. How didn’t you notice the sudden torrential downpour?

Even from your seat at such a distance from the entrance you can see how large and well defined his hand is as he shakes raindrops from his orange hair. The colour makes you shiver, but you bat it away. It’s him, it has to be him. He’s alone, after all. And you see the maître d’ smile in your direction.

Hell, he might be happier that he showed up than you are.

You hear him laugh, and it’s deep, as he’s guided into the restaurant. And you can’t help but smile as you see him. He’s handsome, very handsome, and he has such a positive energy beaming from him. His face seems warm despite being chilled by the wetness of the rain. There’s pink in his cheeks and at the tip of his nose as he continues to smile kindly.

And, really, you’re speechless.

He smiles so sweetly, you almost didn’t recognise him, as he takes his seat opposite to you. And he thanks you for the wine. His eyes betray him as he looks at you with optimism. You know him, you’ve always known him. Those amber eyes that you’ve never seen in another man again since him. They seem so kind, now.

But you know better.

While he knows nothing.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he grins, looking briefly over the menu. “I got stuck in traffic and then I had a hard time in the car park.” he laughs, his thumb indicating he’s referring to the multi-story car park down the road. The one notorious for its broken machines and confusing layout.

“Well, you’re here now.” you smile, weakly. Tipping the remaining contents of your glass until it flows between your lips. It goes down smooth and you almost feel it swim directly to your braincells, feeling slightly faint until your senses return to you again. You blink it away, and your eyes squint at him suspiciously. “Excuse me, I have to pee.” you tell him.

“Oh, sure.” he smiles. “Should I order for you if the waiter comes by? What would you like?”

“Are you paying or are we splitting the bill?” you wonder, taking his menu from his hand before he can even register that it’s gone. Your eyes scan the menu quickly, not looking for anything in particular.

“I’m old fashioned, so—”

“Great, then I want this.” you tell him, pointing to the most expensive meal on the menu as you place it back into his grip. He chuckles, gently, before looking up at you. Your smile filled with anger and malice as you turn on your heel to find the bathroom. “Oh, and an expensive meal should be paired with an expensive drink, right?” you tell him, leaving before he can respond.

He watches as you approach a waiter, asking where you can find the bathroom. They point you in the right direction. But before you go, you point towards the table your date is still seated at, telling them you’re ready to order. You ascend the staircase to the second floor and slip away into the bathroom and out of your dates line of sight.

Your heart pounds furiously.

Little hands shake as you search for your phone in your purse. Christ, you could use a cigarette right now. You feel light-headed as you take deeper and deeper breaths as you pull up your texts, your fingers tremble as you lean against the sinks.

YOU: do you hate me? be honest MAISIE MOO 🐮: ???? what’s wrong? Do u think he’s ugly? YOU: no he isn’t ugly. ANNOYINGLY. UGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! MAISIE MOO 🐮: … MAISIE MOO 🐮: what? YOU: do u remember me telling u about a school bully 😊 MAISIE MOO 🐮: stop it YOU: YOU SET ME UP ON A DATE WITH MY BULLY!! WHAT DO I DO?? MAISIE MOO 🐮: NOOOOOOOOOO MAISIE MOO 🐮: OMG OMG OMG IM SORRY MAISIE MOO 🐮: FUCK YOU: I told him to order me the most expensive stuff on the menu bc he’s paying.. so I might just eat and dip MAISIE MOO 🐮: stopppppp omg lmk when ur done I will pick u up im so sorry ily

You sigh, putting your phone back in your purse. Is that really the right thing to do? Maybe not right, it’s morally wrong, of course. But is it the best decision to make? Do you really want to sit and eat a meal you probably won’t enjoy with your former bully watching your every move?

“Fuck.” you whisper to yourself. You decide to pee while you’re here, and you wash your hands for longer than you intended. It’s distracting you from your worries as you stare at yourself in the mirror and feel the comfort of the warm water encasing your hands as you clean them. You shake them when your done, little drops of water landing back in the sink before you go to the hand dryer. Maybe you’re stalling. You’re definitely stalling as you realise you’re drying your hands for far too long.

With one final look into the mirror, you take a deep breath and decide to return to your date. He smiles as he sees you descend the stairs again. And instinctively, you smile back. It’s a habit you’ve developed, not necessarily a bad one. But in this instance, it feels like a betrayal to yourself. You tell yourself to remain straight faced as you sit down, pulling your chair closer to the table.

“I’m Rensuke, by the way. I realise I didn’t introduce myself.” he grins, beaming white teeth almost blinding you as he awkwardly holds his hand out for you to shake. “Sorry, been a while since I had a date.” he laughs as he puts his hand down.

“I know who you are.” you laugh in return, though it’s not because of what he said. You just can’t help but find yourself amused over the fact he doesn’t recognise you. He laughs, too, looking a little uncomfortable all the while. He scratches his head as he nods, coming to his own conclusion.

“Oh, right. You’re a football fan, then? Sorry, you didn’t strike me as the type.” he continues, assuming you��re familiar with him through his fame. You hold your eyes shut for a beat too long, an annoyed smirk creeping its way onto your face as you try to bite your tongue.

“Sure, let’s go with that.” you comment, taking a swig from your newly filled wine glass. He cocks his head in confusion, but drinks with you. “So, why are you here? In London, I mean. I assumed you’d be… not here.” you ask, unable to control your tongue. There’s venom in your words, but not enough to kill.

“Um, I—” he clears his throat, coughing into his balled-up fist. His honeyed eyes find yours again, an incredulous look appears on his face as he formulates his thoughts in his mind. “I feel like I’m being set up.” he chuckles, though you can sense the worry behind his voice.

You take another sip from your wine glass. A sip turns to a glug as you empty the red liquid from the crystalline glass. You refill it yourself; sensing things are about to go south very quickly.

“This wasn’t really a blind date, right? Maisie told you who I am and you wanted to meet me. Am I right?” he wonders. And at that, you do scoff. And now you’ve lost all interest in holding your tongue.

“Oh my God. You’re so full of yourself, you haven’t changed at all.” you tell him, crossing one leg over the other as you rummage through your purse in search of a cigarette that will never appear. “I had no idea I was being set up with you. If I knew that, I wouldn’t have agreed.” you tell him without remorse. Defeated, you throw your purse down to the ground by your feet.

There’s a sense of shame flaring within you that you couldn’t keep it together until the end of your date. Of all the people roaming planet earth right now, why did he have to be your blind date? You stare at him as you observe his confused expression, he’s utterly bewildered by your words.

“I’m… we’ve met before, huh? I’m sorry, I’m having trouble remembering. I— are you a fan? Or… were you?” he asks, trying to decipher your identity. You scoff, again, preparing to stand to your feet. He reaches across the table and grabs your wrist. You look down at his large, veiny hand and then into his eyes. Your own vibrating with a slight twinge of fear. You feel like that teenage girl all over again.

“Let. Go.” you warn him, voice quiet through your gritted teeth. He relinquishes his hold of you instantly, apologising profusely. He’s just confused about what he could have done for you to hold such disdain for him. But your warning replays in his mind like a record on repeat. It’s like his fractured memories are forming again, becoming whole as he hears your voice again and again.

Let go.

You sounded so much weaker back then. You’re more defiant, now.

“Are you Ryusei Shidou’s little cousin?” he asks, eyes widening and brows raising in excitement. You sigh, sitting properly in your chair with correct posture as your eyes look angrily at him.

“No, I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not really cousins your families are just close. I remember.” he smiles. His eyes almost dazzle as he looks at you, all recollection of his past hits him like lightning as he repeats your name again and again like a mantra. “Is that really you?”

“It’s really me.” you repeat, sarcastically. “Cancel the food order, you can still pay for the wine.” you tell him as you pick up your purse and prepare to leave.

“What? Why? We should catch up!” he tells you, an expectant look on his face as he hopes to convince you.

“I don’t want to catch up with you?” you tell him.

“But… why not? It’s been so long since we saw each other.”

You signal the maître d’ when you finally catch his attention. Rensuke looks disappointed as you continue to ignore him. Instead, you alert the man that you’ll be leaving early and to cancel your orders. But you make sure to tell him that Rensuke will happily cover the bill. And he does, hastily pulling out a wad of cash from his wallet as you depart the restaurant. He hurries after you, he’s in slight disbelief when he realises how fast you are. You’re almost halfway down the road when he finally exits the restaurant.

“Slow down!” he calls out to you, running right up behind you until he’s walking at your pace. He opens his umbrella and holds it above your head as you carry on walking. “You’re gonna get sick if you keep this up.”

“Leave me alone.”

“At least take my umbrella.” he requests, “I’ll go to my car and leave right now if that’s what you really want. But at least take it while you wait for a ride home.”

You accept, not too proud to take something that might offer you a small comfort in the absolutely obscene downpour plaguing the city. How quickly you’ve transformed from a vixen to a drowned rat. He must be loving this.

“I really would like to catch up with you, y’know…” he smiles.

You look up at him as the rain soaks his gorgeous gingery locks dampening and sticking to his forehead. Maybe he has changed. It’s been years after all. He’s grown up, it’s plain to see from his chiselled jawline alone. And he was always big back then. One of the tallest guys in your class, and so big and beefy to boot from playing so much football and training in the gym.

He terrified you.

And now, he’s bigger. An inch or two taller and completely filled out into an even more muscular physique.

“I can take you home, too. You don’t need to talk to me if you don’t want to… but, it’s freezing. You’ll be waiting ages for a taxi or for Maisie to come get you.” he speaks softly. And unfortunately, he’s right. You know all too well how tough it is to get taxis around this time, but it would be worse if it was the weekend so at least you’re thankful for it being a Thursday. You want to decline. You’re so ready to decline.

But for some reason—

“Okay.” you nod. You walk ahead, though, leaving him behind as you walk to the parking complex you’re pretty confident that he used. He laughs, hurrying after you again and allowing you to lead the way. It seems you know the area way better than him.

He guides you to the elevator and to the top floor of the complex. You aren’t sure what you expected when you step out. It’s not like you’re familiar with cars. But you were expecting some kind of expensive sports model. A Ferrari or something. Instead, you’re greeted to a black Range Rover.

It’s definitely outside of your pay grade, but you can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“I thought you’d have a nicer car, Rensuke.” you decide to goad him, thinking it’s the least he deserves at this point.

“This is my incognito car.” he smirks, looking over his shoulder at you as he unlocks it. Of course he has an incognito car. You huff a little as he helps you up and into it, closing the door behind you. He circles around the back and you see him looking around in the boot before he comes to the driver's side and sits behind the wheel. He gives you a towel, presumably used for his training days, and tells you to dry off. “My nicer cars are at home, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, wait…” you snicker as a thought comes to you. “Were you gonna try and pretend you’re a nobody if I didn’t recognise you?”

His face fills with a pink hue as he feels completely caught out. And you can’t help but burst into hysterics. It’s tough for him, meeting girls who will actually like him for him and not his bank account. When Maisie suggested a blind date, he thought it was as good a chance as any to try and form a natural connection.

“Anyway, I’ll take you home now.” he tells you, trying to change the subject. “Sorry the date didn’t go to plan.”

You huff, again, as you try to dry your skin with the towel. Eventually you give up and use it as a horribly soggy blanket. “I can’t believe you even wanted to go on a blind date. Girls used to throw themselves at you in school. I told Maisie a blind date seemed really desperate.”

“Did we go to the same school? I was a virgin ‘til we left.” he informs you. You look at him, surprised, and he nods to clarify. “I was focused on football and shit, didn’t have time for girls.”

“Well, you had time to bully one girl.” you remind him, regretting saying it instantly. You thought confronting him would feel better than this, cooler. Like you can finally get closure and make him feel almost a fraction as bad as he made you feel back then. But instead, really, it just feels… cringe.

He offers a weak smile at you. The tension could be cut with a knife as he pulls out of his parking space and drives down each floor. He wants to say something, and really, so do you. Maybe you should just let the hatred go. It was a really long time ago, after all.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t a good guy back then, but I like to think I’ve changed a lot.” he speaks, eyes focusing on the road as the street lights and car beams blind him in the rain. “Your cousin bullied me, y’know. Dunno if he ever told you, but I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair though, so I’m really sorry.”

“He is not—”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, princess.” he smirks, “I wouldn’t want to claim a relation to that blonde freak either.”

The insult towards Ryusei makes you laugh. You’re still close with him to this day, and ‘blonde freak’ is the perfect descriptor. But you don’t like to think of him as being capable of bullying. You had a feeling that was why you were subject to Rensuke’s torment each day, but you didn’t want to discover the truth. He always made it a point to vilify you for being related to Ryusei. Though you adamantly denied it each time.

“So, you were a prick to me for being related to someone I wasn’t even related to?” you respond, seriously. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Though you’re unsure any answer to his bullying would have made you feel better. It hurts to know you suffered so much, ultimately, for nothing. “Wish I told him you were picking on me, he would have fucking killed you.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.” he laughs a little. It’s soft, but not weak. It’s almost like acceptance. As though he deserves anything and everything you’ll throw at him. “We’re good now, though, if we’re in the same place we’ll meet up for drinks. He’s a fucking good player, too. Always admired him. He kept me in my place for a long, long time.”

You stare at him as he speaks. How have you never noticed how soft his features are? He’s so relaxed, peaceful. He looks at you briefly when he notices you staring, but just as quickly looks at the road again as his cheeks fill with heat, reddened with embarrassment.

“I was immature…” you start, looking down at your shivering, wet thighs as you decide to accept your own faults, too. “It’s been a long time since then. And we were young, it’s obvious that you’ve changed. I didn’t give you a chance and I was childish.”

“No, no—”

“I’m serious. Ordering the most expensive stuff and going off in a strop, that was really immature so... I’m sorry.” you tell him, and he smiles at that. He can’t help but think you’re a great girl. He looks over at you again, smiling so widely his eyes close.

“You never gave me your address, y’know.” he reminds you, laughing when the realisation hits you that you’d let him drive off with no real destination in mind. “Is it too late for that catch up?” he wonders, looking at you with hopeful eyes. The orange and brown colour tainted with sparkles of red as the stop light reflects from them.

And you’re powerless.

You find yourself agreeing before your brain can even keep up with the way you’re shaking your head. No, it isn’t too late. And his smile is almost as blinding as the headlights of each car in the road illuminating the falling raindrops and deep puddles forming in the street.

“I know where we can go…” he thinks to himself

Bowling.

You never thought you’d be coming somewhere like this. Truthfully, you feel like a kid again. You remember skimming some money from your daily lunch allowance given by your parents to save up enough to go to the arcade every weekend with your friends. Saving the extra coins to use the DDR machine.

Let’s just say you mastered Captain Jack on expert difficulty.

“Another strike? You’re too good, puttin’ me to shame.” Kunigami laughs before picking up a ball and preparing for his turn. “You better not tell anyone you thrashed me; my reputation will be in tatters.” he warns you, jokingly.

You watch him as he takes a swing and hits all but two pins, leaving an awkward split between them. You hear him mutter under his breath but can’t decipher whatever it is he was talking about.

For some reason, you feel like he’s going easy on you. It’s not like he was a stranger to the arcade either back in the day. You always scarpered whenever he showed up with his friends, deciding it was the perfect time to grab a bite to eat and hope by the time you were done they’d be gone.

“I wouldn’t have invited you here if I knew you were gonna show me up like this.” he smiles, sitting next to you after completing his turn. “I didn’t know you liked bowling, thought you just liked using the dance machines.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah, uh,” he chuckles and scratches the back of his neck as he recalls the memories from way back then. “Me ‘n Raichi, remember Raichi? Anyway, girls on the dance mats… well, we were teenagers, so—”

“Oh my God you’re so embarrassing.” you interrupt him to put a stop to his stuttering.

“Look, it was a sexual awakening that’s all I’m saying.” he laughs. “And you were the best one, never missed a step. I remember we used to watch you for ages before we came in to scare you away.”

“Disgusting. Pair of perverts!” you lightly smack his arm as you continue to tease him. “I was good, though. Wonder if I could still pull it off…” you look at the machines in the distance as you contemplate restoring your former glory, you feel a newfound sense of confidence as you think about Rensuke finding you attractive back then.

You decide to go for it.

He follows you as you approach the machine, standing on the second player arrows right next to you.

“Always wanted to try!” he shrugs as you look at him suspiciously. “You can teach me.”

“No, I can’t.” you laugh, slotting two-pound coins into the machine so you can both play. “It’s just memory and hoping your feet will respond in time. Good luck, though.”

“Yeah, sounds like you have real faith in me.” he rolls his eyes, throwing his coat over the red metal bar behind him and rolling up his sleeves. You quickly kick off your high heels as you scroll through the songs. You hover over Captain Jack, and his face lights up as memories of you back then flow through his mind. “You always did this one. There was a different one I remember liking, though…” he tells you.

He starts to scroll through the songs, listening to them carefully as he searches for the one he remembers. Your eyes widen in horror as he settles on one, and he looks at you with pride.

“This one!” he exclaims, loudly.

“No, no way. I could never get the hang of it and I’m even more out of practice now. Afronova is too hard it won’t even be fun!” you warn him, but he wiggles his eyebrows at you teasingly. “Let’s do it la—” he interrupts you by pressing the select button.

“It can’t be that hard.”

“You put it on the hardest difficult, idiot. We’re fucked!” you laugh, but get into position. You’re both definitely going to fuck it up, but at the very least you’ll get a good laugh out of seeing him eat his words.

All colour drains from his face as he sees all of the arrows immediately come into view on the screen. He barely knows where to look let alone where to plant his feet. He looks at your side of the screen, though, seeing you miss a fair few moves yourself but you manage to keep up the pace enough to earn some words of praise from the machine.

If you’d know you were going to be doing this, you definitely would have worn a bra. You hold your arms across your chest as you continue to jump and follow along with the arrows as best you can. Kunigami, however, decided to give up and watch you instead. He puts his feet down a few times on ones he think he might actually be able to get.

You’re left panting by the time the song comes to an end and your final foot stomp leaves you breathless. Rensuke claps, proudly.

“Fucking hell.” you gasp for air, leaning over the red bar behind you. You think you might actually throw up. “You dick, you barely did anything either.”

“I was captivated by the master at work, you were amazing!” he praises you, and you can’t help but giggle. “I think we should do an easy one next.”

“Agreed…” you respond, flipping through the songs until you land on 5678 by Steps.

You both laugh and joke as you easily follow along with the routine on baby mode. And it’s easy to keep up a conversation with him like this. Discussing more memories of spotting each other in the arcade and what you got up to on weekends.

It makes you sad, in a way. Knowing how sweet he is now and what he was capable of back then. You could have been friends, great friends. Maybe even best friends. Though you’re sure Raichi wouldn’t have liked that.

He allows you to pick your favourite song for the final round. And, naturally, he can’t keep up with you. But this time he actually does his best. But for you, it’s like muscle memory. You don’t miss a single step through the whole routine and you don’t even feel out of breath when it’s over. Kunigami however is sweating and panting again, his already wet hair sticking onto his forehead again as the sweat clings to it.

“It’s getting late.” you tell him, “Should we get some gross bowling alley food and call it a night?” you wonder, moving to pick up your discarded high heels so that you can decide what to do.

He rushes by you and hops off of the step, snatching your shoes up before you can. You watch him, nervously, as he gets down on one knee while holding your black pumps. You’re too speechless to object when he helps you slip your feet back into them, so delicately. And he smiles up at you from his lowly position as you gain another six inches of height. He holds his hand out to you, helping you down the step after you take it.

You exhale, deeply, after feeling how unbelievably soft his hands are.

“I think I’ll get a hot dog.” he thinks, not letting go of your hand and he leads you up the small flight of stairs and into the eating area.

“Oh, the burgers were good last time I came here.”

“Ohhhh fuck you’re right, I’m getting one too.” he laughs, ushering you into a secluded spot to sit down. “What do you want to drink? I’ll run up and order everything now.” he smiles.

You quickly look through the drinks menu and tell him you want a strawberry and lime Kopparberg. He nods approvingly at your choice. You watch him walk up to the bar to order, unable to take your eyes off him. He’s chatty with the bartender, and you wonder what else they’re talking about. You see him grab a pad of paper and a pen from behind the bar, handing them over to Rensuke. And he smiles, happily, signing it for him. You see the man thanking him over and over before Rensuke walks back over to you.

“You only just got recognised?” you tease him.

“It’s rarer than you’d think, y’know.” he laughs, “he said his kid is a fan. No big deal.” he shrugs, sliding your drink over to you.

He moves on from the subject of his fame and status in favour of complimenting you again. Telling you how talented you are and how fun it’s been hanging out with you again. You end up telling him about your job. It’s nothing fancy but pays the bills. You tell him about how you pretty much fell into the job of doing admin work for a law firm and now you’re training to be a solicitor.

His face lights up as you tell him. Like he’s proud. Or maybe it’s a twinge of relief that he didn’t fuck you up mentally enough to ruin your life. Either way, his smile is contagious. It only grows wider when your two plates of food are put down in front of you. And you hate that you’re trying to eat politely. There is absolutely no way to eat a dirty burger in a ladylike manner. He laughs at you when a dollop of ketchup drops on your chest and tries to slither down your cleavage. But, ever the gentleman, he cleans it up quickly with a napkin.

“Sorry,” he hesitates after realising how intimate it is. He hands it to you and you finish clearing your chest. “Good call on the burgers, though, they’re so good.”

You smile as you chew your food, still doing all you can to appear polite and demure. But he doesn’t mind, or care. Canines tear his burger apart with ease, and he can’t seem to stop himself from smiling each time he looks at you.

“So,” you start, putting down the final bite of your burger in favour of taking a swig of your drink. “You perving over me, did that affect the bullying?” you wonder, laughing lightly as he almost chokes on his food.

“I wasn’t perving, it was, I— ugh. I always thought you were cute. But I wasn’t about to tell you that.”

“You thought I was cute?”

“Oh, like you didn’t have a big fat crush on me? I heard the rumours.” Kunigami laughs, drinking his beer as he leans back into his seat.

“No, no, rumours and hearsay. I told one girl I thought you were hot on our first day and it turned into a game of broken telephone and spread like wildfire. I hated you!”

“Sure, sweetheart.” he winks before taking another drink. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret.”

You shake your head, opting to finish your burger instead of disputing it further. He does the same, leaning back and sighing with relief before taking another drink. He slaps his stomach, as if he’s gained a beer bellying rather than possessing the rock-hard abs that you know reside there.

“This was fun. Really fun.” he tells you, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to get comfortable in the booth seat. You nod, agreeing. “What are we calling… this?” he wonders.

“What do you mean?”

“Was it just a ‘catch up’ or could it still have been a date?” he asks, smiling when your eyes widen and your face flushes with heat so much that you feel the need to fan yourself. You tell him that you’re just hot from eating, but another cocky eye roll tells you that he’s not buying that. “I’m hoping you’ll say it was a date, if you were wondering.” he speaks, low and gravelly as he leans across the table to tell you.

“Well, it was technically a date. Just not the location we’d planned.”

“I enjoyed this a lot more.” he tells you, looking around at all of the arcade machines and the people bowling in the distance. “I go to snooty restaurants a lot, I don’t get a chance to relax like this as much. So, thank you.”

“R-Right, no problem.” you smile, unsure of what to say. “I guess we should get going, then.” you finish, gathering yourself and clutching onto your purse as you prepare to shuffle out of the booth. He looks a little deflated, then, but he follows your lead.

He puts his arm around you as he guides you to his car, helping you inside again. He even gives you his jacket to wear when he notices you shivering. Though you opt to wear it over yourself like a blanket.

You look out of the window as he climbs inside and shuts the door. The rain stopped while you were bowling, but it’s still so dark out. It’s damp and dreary, it’s just miserable, really. But the cold chill of staring out into the black abyss leaves you when Kunigami turns on the radio. Some generic pop music you’ve never heard in your life, and it makes you feel old and out of touch. But the face he pulls says the same story, and he begins flicking through other stations until he hears something he recognises.

“S-So… do you live nearby?” you ask him, curiously.

“I do! Just got a new place a few weeks ago, I’m still unpacking.” he smiles as he envisions all of the moving boxes still piled up in each room. “So where am I taking you?”

“If you go to Maisie’s office I can direct you from there.” you tell him, clicking your seatbelt into place as he pulls up directions on his phone to the office. You look out of the front window when you hear raindrops begin to pitter patter again. “Um… Rensuke…” you start, hesitating to speak as you wonder what the fuck you’re even thinking of doing right now.

“What’s up?” he asks, eyes darting to you before he starts the car. The only thing that can be heard is the light drops of rain. It makes your skin jitter, you feel a chill as you look at Kunigami, the rain rolling down the windows in your peripheral vision and you feel thankful to be here and not out there.

You feel desperate. And you’re sure you’re going to humiliate yourself, but you don’t want the night to end. In a million years, you never would have pictured yourself enjoying the company of Rensuke Kunigami. He’s a busy man, you’re sure. He fit you into his busy schedule and you’re sure he has better things to do than spend all of his free time on a date. A date that is supposed to be drawing to a close.

But you don’t say that.

In fact, you barely say anything.

He can’t help but smile, though, knowing exactly where your next destination will be.

“I don’t want tonight to end, either.” he confesses. You feel your body become lighter as you realise he feels the same way. He starts the car promptly, and you note how sure he is about where he’s taking you. “Can I show you my new place?” he asks.

He’s so cocksure as he says it. His eyes don’t meet yours and you sense it’s because he knows you’ll say yes. And who are you to disappoint? You’re curious, anyway. You wonder if it will be as impressive as you’re envisioning in your mind. Footballers are rich, aren’t they? But maybe he isn’t a high earning player. Either way, you’re curious to see the home that your former bully has worked so hard for.

You lose track of time as you pull up to his house. Or mansion, you should say. He’s allowed through the security gate currently being manned by a member of staff, and he drives up and towards a three door garage. You can’t believe you’re visiting somewhere like this, it feels like a dream.

It’s something Maisie is accustomed to, Rensuke even tells you how confidently she strutted around and didn’t even bat an eyelid when she came over to discuss his contract. But you’re left speechless as more comes into view.

He doesn’t bother parking in the garage, pulling up directly to the stairs leading up to the front door. He’s out first, doing a little jog around your side to open the door and help you out.

“I didn’t bring you here to brag, by the way.” he insists.

“And here I was thinking you were trying to woo me into bed.” you laugh, and laugh harder the redder his face becomes. He holds his hands up defensively, waving them dismissively as he tries to assure you that was not his intention.

“I’ll take you home right after if you want! I swear I wasn’t—”

“Relax! I was teasing you.” you tell him, bumping into him as you enter the mansion. He offers you a drink, which you accept, happily. He pours you a glass of wine but gets himself some water directly from the tap. “You aren’t drinking?” you question, feeling a little uncomfortable that you’re drinking alone.

“I won’t be able to take you home if I drink more than I already have.” he chuckles, handing your wine to you.

He drinks his water, and you take a sip of your wine. His smile, that beautiful smile, it’s so disarming. You’re tottering on your heels to walk by his side as he encourages you to follow him. You feel as though time is flying when he takes you from room to room. There are still moving boxes in each room but it doesn’t detract from the lavishness of it all.

You laugh when he tells you there’s a tennis court out back.

“What are you going to do with a tennis court?” you giggle.

“Play tennis, I suppose.” he laughs back.

You don’t mind even a little when you feel his cold hand come into contact with the even colder skin between your shoulder blades. You mind even less when his hand snakes down your spine and settles in the small of your back as he guides you to the next room.

“Oh wow…” you express, hit by the warmth of the room. Your heels clack against the tiles with each step you take. You leave his side as you get closer and closer to your target. And you scream, smacking Kunigami’s arm as he rushes behind you and presses his fingers into your sides. “An indoor pool… you’ve really fucking made it.” you tell him, and he shrugs.

“There’s one outside as well.” he informs you.

“Now that was a brag.” you laugh.

“Shit, was it?”

“Absolutely.

You crouch down to the balls of your feet, letting your fingers swim through the pristine pool water. You aren’t quite sure how to describe the colour of it, but it’s mesmerising, as if sage and turquoise paint mixed specifically to fill this pool.

He takes your hand and encourages you to stand upright again. And he doesn’t let go as he leads you out of the room. The thought of going back to your poky apartment after being in here is harrowing.

It almost feels like he’s doing charity work.

There’s a rumble outside that causes you both to stop in your tracks. And once you enter the living room again, you see the heavy rain pouring down violently on the windows again. It’s louder than before. The raindrops are weightier.

He squeezes your hand as you yelp after seeing a bolt of lightning pierce through the sky. You look up at him, eyes full of grace as those honeyed eyes warm your soul for the umpteenth time tonight.

“There’s a weather warning from The Met Office…” he tells you as he checks the time on his phone. He lets go of your hand to look at you again, unsure of what to say. “I can take you home… before it gets any worse…” he whispers. His voice betrays him, though. You can hear the voice of a liar interspersed with his desperation to be a good guy.

He doesn’t want you to leave.

You don’t want to leave, either.

“It’s… dangerous, though…” you start, looking out of the window again at the gloomy weather.

“In that case…” he bends down, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “You should stay.”

You mewl, softly, as he not-quite kisses against your ear and the smooth skin behind it. And your head tilts, for him, so that he can press one final kiss against your neck. You don’t want it to stop, but he withdraws himself with a cheeky smirk while your eyes are heavy with lust.

It’s been so long.

Too long.

You might have lived your whole life up to now without being kissed like that.

He curls his finger, instructing you to follow him back upstairs. You put down your wine glass and hurry after him. He doesn’t wait, this time, leading ahead as he brings you to one of the bedrooms.

“Wait here.” he commands, and you do.

You walk up to the standing mirror against the wall and check yourself out. Trying to make sure you makeup hasn’t smudged or there isn’t food in your teeth. Your hair is still soaked, but that can’t be helped. When he walks back into the room you quickly back away from the mirror as if you’d been caught doing something wrong.

“The bathroom is just opposite to here.” he reminds you, pointing.

You look down at the pile of items he brought in from another room. There’s an unopened three-pack of toothbrushes and a brand-new tube of toothpaste. You can’t help but smile when you pick up the rolled-up ball of white, fluffy bed socks.

And you hate to admit how your knees go weak when you realise he’s gifted you with his football jersey to sleep in for the night. There are shorts, too, but you doubt you’ll need them. You want to keep your dress on for as long as possible. You’ll just sleep in the jersey and your panties when you’re ready.

“Thank you.” you smile at him. You notice the tips of his ears and his nose turn a blush pink as he sees you holding up his jersey and modelling it against your body.

He doesn’t say anything as he leaves the room, giving you the space you need to do whatever it is you’re planning on doing. You take the opportunity to freshen up, you pick up the dental hygiene products he’d thoughtfully left for you and head to the bathroom. You catch his figure slipping into his own bedroom and closing the door behind himself.

Your mind runs rampant now that you’re truly alone. Look where you are. You’re brushing your teeth and preparing to spend the night in Rensuke Kunigami’s house. Sorry, mansion. How the fuck did this happen? Your heart begins to race. Are you actually going to fuck him?

You can’t.

You can already feel your inner child cussing you out for letting him kiss you like he did, no matter how brief it was. It helps, slightly, to tell yourself you have a reason to spend the night. The weather. It would be dangerous to drive in weather like this.

But, Christ, you can feel your cunt throb with want as you think about him railing you in every room of the house.

“Stop.” you whisper to yourself.

You finish brushing your teeth and spit into the sink. And that is when an idea hits you. You splash your face with water and find some cleansing wipes in the cupboard underneath. You start getting ready for bed. Because that is what you should be doing. Sleeping, alone, until you can go home.

When you’re done clearing your face you decide to slip into the clothes Kunigami gave you to wear. Even the ill-fitting, downright hideous shorts.

You emerge from the room, and see Kunigami appear again with a wide smile.

“Hey—”

“I think I’m gonna go to bed.” you blurt out, awkwardly, and Rensuke stops in his tracks.

“Oh… really?”

“Yeah I’m… tired.” you lie, already turning back into your room. “Goodnight.” you call out, not bothering to look at him as you’re already shutting the door behind yourself.

“Goodnight.” he replies, the disappointment in his voice doesn’t go amiss.

You can’t.

You just can’t.

You can’t fucking sleep.

It’s closing in on midnight when you check the time, and you have a multitude of texts from Maisie blowing up your phone. You can’t bear to respond, though. Not after all of the horror stories you told her about Rensuke. The thought of her knowing that you’re spending the night at his house is just embarrassing. Even though it is innocent enough. You didn’t even kiss, really. You’re just sleeping until morning.

But you can’t sleep.

Your mind is racing with ideas of what could have happened if you didn’t say goodnight. What else could you have gotten up to if you hadn’t had your responsible brain hardwired in. You’re thankful for it, you are. But just because it’s responsible doesn’t mean it’s always right. Right? It’s been so long since you’ve gotten fucked.

Are you depriving yourself over something so trivial?

You throw off your duvet and prepare to leave the room. You’re not looking for him. In fact, you’re hoping he’s asleep, like you should be. But if he catches you roaming the halls, you’ll just tell him you were going to use the bathroom.

The corridors are cold. The chill in the air caresses your no longer covered thighs, you discarded the shorts barely any time after you said goodnight.

You aren’t sure where you’re going, you only have the flash from your phone to light the way. You’re sure he wouldn’t mind you turning the lights on, but you don’t want him to catch you if he is awake. And you don’t want the light creeping into his room to disturb him if he did actually manage to get to sleep.

When you find yourself in the same room as the swimming pool, you have no idea how you even got here. It’s like you were summoned. It’s a mermaid’s lagoon and you were drawn in by a sirens song.

You can’t remember the last time you swam. It’s not like the weather is ever nice enough for it, and you hate public pools. But this… it might even help you feel tired enough to sleep.

You look behind you and approach a set of loungers.

As you’re about to pull Kunigami’s jersey over your head, you screech. The sound of breaching water echoes through the room and you turn around, sharply, to see the source.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the room. “Were you looking for me?”

“Jesus Christ,” you yell, laughing soon after. “I- I couldn’t sleep. You almost gave me a heart attack, I didn’t even know you were in here!” you tell him, truthfully, and he laughs. He swims under the water from one end of the pool to the other. You stand at the edge when he comes up for air again. “I just couldn’t sleep.” you confess, though it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. Your voice is quiet and mousy so that your words won’t carry throughout the room.

“Me neither.” he tells you, looking up at you as he does. You notice his eyes stray, catching a glimpse of your panties under his jersey before he shamefully looks away. But he looks, again, as he admires you in his jersey. “Why can’t you sleep?” he asks, the sound of water pouring is boisterous as he raises his hand and pats the edge of the pool.

You look at it, his hand, and understand what he’s doing.

You can’t.

But you do. You crouch down, submerging your lower legs in the warm liquid while it ripples against the back of your thighs and ass. Your breath hitches when you feel his hand on your thighs and raking up the sides. He stands up, his forehead resting against yours as water cascades from his soaking body.

You can’t bring yourself to care when you feel it splash up against you.

The only thing on your mind is how close he is.

“Why can’t you sleep, baby?” he tells you in hushed tones. The weight of his words and the way he speaks them makes your body limp. But he’s there to keep you upright. He angles his head so that his eyes, those honey pot eyes, can focus on you. Your words die on your tongue as you try and formulate a lie.

One won’t come.

“Why did you say you were going to bed when you weren’t tired?” he whispers, again, and you feel your resolve begin to crumble. He’s like an archaeologist, meticulously brushing at an ancient relic that he has no business handling.

He should have left you be.

“I… I don’t know, Rensuke.” you lie. And it’s an awful lie. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he hears you struggle to think of anything better than that. He knows. You both know. That’s why you can’t object when he pulls you closer. His hands force your legs around his waist. How did you get here?

“You look good, princess,” he tells you, tugging gently as his jersey, looking down at the strip that drapes like silk over your cute tits and perfect frame. “Want you to have it…”

“But it’s yours.” you respond. You’re a little taken aback by how demure your voice is as you speak. It’s like you’re instinctively making yourself small for him. Your inner child is protecting you, still to this day. He shakes his head at your words, though.

“It’s yours, I’ve got plenty.” he assures you. He keeps a tight grip of your thighs as he begins to walk you further into the pool. You wrap your arms around his neck and will yourself to remain some semblance of control. But he smirks, his nose touching yours before he pulls away again. “You’re coming for a swim… do you want to take it off?” he wonders.

Your eyes widen in horror as you recall your decision to decision to forgo a bra, knowing it would ruin your outfit. You shake your head, defiantly.

You can’t.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath…” you inform him. He chuckles, at that. In his mind, he knows. And deep down, you know it too. If you don’t find your willpower soon, your bare-naked form won’t be an issue. He closes his eyes and holds them shut, laughing when you repeat his name a few times in an attempt to get him to open them again.

“Take it off, ‘m not looking. You can hide under the water.”

Your movements are halted but for barely any time at all. He has a way of making you submit to anything he wants and you aren’t sure why that is. You were so mad at him hours ago. You didn’t even want to have dinner with him.

But look at you now.

Your legs are wrapped tight around his waist and you’re throwing his football jersey away. It doesn’t land on a lounger, but near enough. And you hold onto his shoulders as he begins to walk you both deeper and deeper into the pool. You don’t want him to feel you, not like that.

It’s getting out of hand.

You can’t stop it.

You can’t help it.

“You can open your eyes.” you tell him, and he stops walking. His eyes slowly open and it takes an incredible amount of restraint for his eyes to not wander beneath the water. And, you feign innocence. You aren’t sure what is wrong with you, because you know you shouldn’t have. But you look away, pretending something in the distance has piqued your interest.

You give him the opportunity to leer at you.

And he’s so thankful.

Even submerged and obscured by the greenish, dithering water, your body looks like an oil painting. To him, you’re a work of art and he’s grateful that you’re even letting him experience you in the slightest. But this… you’re a masterpiece, he thinks.

“Hey,” he speaks, he moves a hand from your thigh to your chin and you cling to him instinctively. He guides your line of sight back to him, looking back at you with a serious stare. “You don’t need to fight me, you know.”

Your heart practically stops at that. At the very least you think it skips a beat. But you hold his stare, eyes vibrating as you look between his as you search for an explanation. Are you truly so easy to read?

He sees you wrestling with your conscience. He doesn’t want to intervene, but what else can he do? He pulls you closer to him, a surprised whimper leaving you as you feel your bare chest come into contact with his.

It doesn’t register to him, though.

You don’t fight when his lips begin to trail your own. No pressure is applied, but you’re breathing is heavy. And he can’t deny that his is matching your own.

“I’m not seventeen anymore.” he reminds you, quietly. Your eyes weld shut and your self-preservation begins to scream at you. Imploring you to have some fucking common sense.

You can’t.

“I know…” you confess.

You look at him briefly, giving him silent permission to proceed. And he takes it. Without hesitation he takes it as his lips capture yours in a sweet kiss. You feel like you’re in a romance novel as it continues. It’s polite but not entirely tame. And for you, it’s been entirely too long since you last kissed anyone. You feel him smile into the kiss when he hears the softest little moan crawl out of your throat. But it fades, fast, when he remembers how lucky he is to be experiencing this.

He doesn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t.

And so, he takes it seriously. He brandishes the plumpness and texture of your lips to the forefront of his mind as you allow him to continue. He implants the way your body arches into his as his fingers trace up the curve of your spine, and how your mouth parts ever so slightly when he reaches the nape of your neck.

You’re perfect.

“Has it been a while? Since you had sex.” he asks, quietly, like it’s some sordid little secret. You feel embarrassed when you register what he’s asking. The insecurity creeps in and you try to pull away. He doesn’t let you, though, pulling you closer and reaffirming his interest with another searing kiss. “You’re so responsive, baby, that’s all.” he tells you.

You kiss him again.

And you feel pathetic. Like a dog humping a stuffed animal as you begin to instinctively roll your hips against him as you beg for more.

“Feels like forever…” you confess, hiding your words into another kiss and hoping he’ll forget you even uttered them. You hear him grunt when you sensually slip your tongue between his lips. He reciprocates, licking at yours as he carries you to the edge of the pool again. “W-What about you?”

You regret asking. Of course, the answer won’t be the same for him. He’s gorgeous. Beautiful, in fact. He’s rich, famous, successful. You’re another in a long line of women who throw themselves at him when given the opportunity.

You certainly aren’t naïve enough to think otherwise.

“Since I had sex? Not too long ago.” he responds, and it’s effortless. You knew. You fucking knew and yet you’re still feeling hurt. And you feel ashamed of yourself in the same breath. It doesn’t matter, really, you know who came before you and who came before him are irrelevant to what’s happening right now in this moment. But still, the feeling of embarrassment lurks. “I don’t remember the last time I fucked anyone the way I want to fuck you, though.” he finishes.

And now, you’re ravenous.

Your lips find his again. And the politeness has died, drowned in the pool along with your morals and self-respect, you figure. Your fingers grab and pull at whatever they can find. One hand finds purchase on one of his biceps and digs and squeezes into the hard flesh. The other tugs and pulls at his hair residing just above his undercut.

And he moans when you yank his pretty orange tufts. He breaks the kiss, laughing, for a moment after he recognises what you just stole from the pits of his lungs.

You feel your ass come into contact with the edge of the pool as he sits you down in the middle of a kiss. He breaks it, sinking down further into the water until you’re looking down at him. Your heart rate quickens as you feel deft fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

And you can’t control your body, moving on autopilot as you lean back and keep your legs together as he steals the black lace from your body. He has no regard for where they land, but you hear a faint splash as they float on the surface of the pool. You won’t see them again, you think. They’re soon to absorb the chlorinated water and sink to the tiles framing the pool.

You sit back upright but find yourself unable to meet his eyes again. Instead, you stare up at the ceiling as he gently pries your thighs apart one by one. He’s slow, and careful, as he parts them. Soaking in the sight of your intricate folds.

“Pretty everywhere, huh? So fuckin’ pretty…” he expresses. You feel his thumb drift along your inner thigh to your pubis. A soft, low chuckle escapes him as it comes into contact with your pubic hair. A perfect landing strip guiding his eyes to your scintillating cunt. “You did this for me.” he states. He doesn’t ask, he tells you. And your eyes snap back to look down at him, defensively splashing him with water.

“I didn’t know it was going to be you,” you remind him. “I wanted to be prepared in case I—”

“But it was me.” he interrupts, wrapping his arms around your thighs after wiping the excess water from his face. “You’re letting me see. So it’s all for me, princess.” he continues. You don’t have a response, despite his logic seeming broken at best. It’s for him, now. But had you known who would be walking into that restaurant…

His breath fans across your heat as he places his thumb at the top of your lips and pulls back the hood of your clit. You gasp, letting your head sink as you lean back on your hands and rest your weight on them. And he spits on it, sucking at it soon after.

“’h my God…” you start, moving a hand to his hair, threading your fingers through damp, orange strands as he continues to suckle at your clit.

You’ve lost the means to feel embarrassment anymore as he looks up at you with his head buried between your thighs. Though you can’t deny the hot flush you feel as he makes a holy show of flattening his tongue between your lips and licking upwards from your oozing hole to your still exposed clit.

But you lose him, again, as he decides to focus.

He didn’t think he could burrow any deeper between your legs until you feel his still hooked arm drag you closer to the pools edge. You tug at his hair again when he finds his rhythm, and he emits another grunt that vibrates throughout your sex.

You admire how his muscles flex as his grip around your thighs intensifies. He feels how your hips begin to buck, like you’re getting there. Like he’s helping you get there but you’re still trying to run from him.

You can’t.

Not anymore.

He looks up at you with golden retriever eyes as you begin to moan. It’s quiet, until it’s not. Quiet, secretive breaths begin to turn into sinful, saccharine moans that echo right back to you as they bounce from the walls.

His nose wiggles and nestles against the perfectly formed line of your pubic hair. It tickles, but he’s always had an affinity for landing strips. It’s nothing he can’t handle. And it’s something that drives him wild.

You clamp your legs around his head as you start to dance along the cliffs edge of your orgasm. But he parts them, easily, his veins bulge in his hands as he grips tightly into the doughy flesh of your thighs.

“Ren- Rensuke—!” you cry out, unable to even warn him before he’s already dragged you into toe-curling bliss. And he prolongs it, divinely, not altering his ministrations even as you begin to shudder and scream. “S’too much, Rensuke, f-fuck…” you pant, looking down at him as he finally begins to slow down.

“’m not done, though.” he warns you. He liberates your left thigh from his grasp, but his fingers lightly trail down your inner thigh and he can’t help but marvel at the sight of your sensitivity. You twitch and spasm from the lightest of touch.

Though the whine that rips through your vocal chords is just as delightful. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t even predict it when you felt two thick fingers seamlessly slot inside of your clenching entrance and curl up against your g-spot.

“Fuuuuuck, no, Rensuke, c-can’t.” you warn him, partially succumbing to light headedness as you feel him hone in and target your squishy slippery inner walls without remorse. You’re shivering. You’d like to think it’s just the exposure of wet skin to the stormy air, but it’s too much. You know it’s too much.

“You think too much,” he tells you, head sinking low again to continue feasting upon your gorgeously ruined flesh. Your pussy pulsates through the recent orgasm and the overstimulation. He’s going to be disappointed when he realises you can’t even fathom the idea of cumming again.

You just can’t.

Your body goes limp as he nudges a particularly delicate spot and presses down on your lower abdomen. The moan that leaves you at the feeling is downright pornographic. You can’t see, you can’t feel, but he’s smirking. He doesn’t relent, but his ego and his cock swell with pride as that salacious fucking moan plays on repeat in his brain.

The hand applying pressure ventures up north of your body. And your cunt clamps down on his fingers as his adventurous hand grabs the fat of your breasts and gropes your flesh. You moan, weakly, with no energy left in you as he tweaks at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

You’re pathetic, you think.

It was this easy for him to reduce you to this.

But you can’t help it. Your body is spent and you can feel another orgasm climbing through your nervous system. And yet, despite being wrecked, your body still finds the energy to clench and groan as you feel pleasure surge through you. Your toes curl, again, before they spread and widen and you try and gain some sort of control over what Rensuke is thrusting upon you.

Another scream is torn from you as you fall, no, you’re pushed from what seemed like a higher cliff than the first. Your back arches from the tile and further into Kunigami’s titillating touch.

“Rensuke, I- I…” you aren’t even sure what you want to say when you begin babbling. You manage to rest your weight on your hands again and look down at him. He showers your inner thighs with adoring kisses, they’re sweet and loving and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were falling in love.

He pulls his fingers out of your spasming walls and looks up at you. Your jaw is agape, slightly, as you feel him spit a perfect glob of saliva onto your clit without even looking. He needs to stop. You shake your head as you see the gears turn in his brain and you catch up almost instantly. You try to pull his wrist away but you’re weak.

“C-Can’t, Rensuke… no more!” you tell him, despite trying to sound firm, you just sound pathetic.

He can’t stop.

So he doesn’t.

He rubs the two fingers that were inside you just moments ago repeatedly over your throbbing clit. The smile sprawling across his face is that of a menace. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He thinks he knows your body better than you do.

And, hell, he might.

You say you can’t.

But why are you moaning for him?

“Doin’ so good for me, princess.” he tells you, kissing your inner thigh again as he continues his assault. His eyes droop as he admires how tender and overstimmed your pussy is. You can keep going, though. He’s sure of it. “You moan really pretty when you cum… ‘n I can tell she likes attention.” he speaks, it’s gruff but somehow still soft. He doesn’t look at you right away after he speaks. Instead his eyes remain focused on your tremoring cunt.

“I’m— I c-aaaan’t. Anymore, no more, ‘mmm hmrmf…” you struggle to even make sense in your mind of what you were originally trying to say as the nonsense you actually spouted takes root in your brain. He laughs, shallowly, as you try to reason with him.

You can’t reason with him, though.

Not when he knows better and your cunt is betraying your weak will.

“Goin’ dumb for me ‘cause you feel too good, huh?” he chuckles, tilting his head as he tries to command your focus on him. The way every inch of your skin trembles with pleasure makes his cock leak like he could never imagine. He’s glad he’s in the water so you can’t see what a pathetic mess your pretty noises alone have him reduced to. Though he makes a mental note to get the pool cleaned tomorrow. “Don’t need to think when you’re cumming. Jus’ cum for me. Can tell she wants to… just let go, princess.”

“Haah, hn- hnnnnng—!” you finish with a cry, you can’t believe he’s managed to make you cum three times in such quick succession.

Even as an adult, Rensuke Kunigami has found a way to reduce you into a sobbing puddle.

He frees you, eventually, allowing your body to catch up to what has just happened. He finally lets you close your legs and allow your twitching quim to recover, alleviating the pressure between them.

He hoists himself out of the water, though. And he climbs effortlessly above you. And, really, you know he’s always been a big guy. It’s arguably his most defining trait. But fuck, like this, while you’re shivering and spent, he’s fucking massive.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks. The soft, caring voice contrasts completely with his all-consuming presence. He lowers his head to kiss between the valley of your breasts and down to your navel. But he stops short and looks at you again. “We can, if you want. But… I’m having fun with you.”

You should answer. He’s asking for consent, after all. Your lips part and reseal repeatedly as you try and decide on what to say. You’re having fun, too. But can you handle it? Can you handle more of this?

“You’re so… big.” you whisper, and you don’t know where that even came from. You giggle when you see him smile at your silly comment, and he immediately has a retort spring to mind.

“My cock matches, y’know. Why d’you think I made you cum so much?” he tells you. “Well… I like making pretty girls cum anyway, but you’ll thank me. If you wanna keep going, that is.”

“I want to fuck… want you to fuck me, ‘Suke.” you admit. He lifts your back away from the cold, damp tiles and pulls you into his embrace. You receive one final, show-stopping kiss from him as he pulls down his swim shorts. You keep your eyes on him, not having the confidence to look down below.

He grabs your chin, his thumb helping tilt your head and guiding you to look at his length. And, embarrassingly, you gasp. He chuckles, kissing your forehead and you look between him and the impressive size he possesses. It’s scary, honestly, looking at how thick and heavy his cock is and what it will feel like inside.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’ve never seen a dick like this and you surely won’t again. He’s big, thick. And long to boot. His tip is prominent but soft. Like you could suck it into your mouth and hear a pretty pop sound once it’s in. You could run your tongue along the ridge and make him hiss from the pleasure.

The thickness is akin to an energy drink can. Eight long inches threaten to invade your apparently well-prepared walls, but still, you aren’t so sure. His veins aren’t prominent, but they’re there. You see them running along his shaft in different directions. And then you do find one. One throbbing, prominent vein as you admire each and every inch of his heavenly member.

You’ve never had an affinity for balls. Seeing them as a nuisance that are just there rather than anything you have any interest in pleasuring. But for him. For those. You could be persuaded. They’re heavy, God they look heavy but every inch of him does. He’s a large, imposing man and his balls are no exception.

It turns you on to no discernible degree to think about how full and aching his balls must be after you’ve teased him all night. How they’ll tighten and release as he floods you with his cum when he’s through with you.

“Need you, Rensuke, n-now.” you tell him, unable to function without feeling him inside of you for a second longer.

A brief panic shoots through your veins as he pulls you back into the water like a siren. But he stops short of pulling you to your death.

At least, in the literal sense.

You might experience your fourth little death as soon as he sticks his tip in you.

The water sloshes around you as you’re pushed into the pool wall. Your legs sit comfortably on his hips as he guides his still leaking cockhead into your greedy cunt. You moan in tandem as you become accommodated with each other.

“You’re so cute, s’fucking tight, princess.” he tells you, silencing any response you might have had with an ardent kiss. You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. And it’s calculated, of course, as he pushes further and further into your sticky walls.

It wasn’t enough.

Three wasn’t enough.

The thickness of his length would have you screaming if he wasn’t keeping a firm grasp on the crown of your head so you couldn’t pull away to voice how the stinging stretch was affecting you.

He doesn’t let go until he’s in. Fully in. You feel him kiss your cheeks and now you can finally moan, pant, screech if you so choose. But as your breathing comes out in hiccupped sobs, you realise he isn’t kissing your cheeks.

He’s kissing away your tears.

“Took me so well, gorgeous.” he mutters against your skin, still continuing to softly peck his lips against your damp skin. “You’re so good… such a good girl, princess. I’m so proud of you, bein’ so good f’me tonight.”

It makes you cry more, though you aren’t sure why. You can barely think about what he was like back then. When he was cruel and callous for no viable reason. But you’d never have heard such sweet sounds from him like you’re hearing now. You’re a good girl, and it’s for him.

Your tongues tangle into a clumsy fervour as he starts to move his hips. The sound water lapping at your bodies is deafening. He lifts you up, slightly, so that he can pound himself into you without restriction.

Both of you find it hard to keep kissing romantically and consistently the harder and faster he batters his cock against your insides. Your lips touch but your mouths hang open. And he’s looking at you. Really fucking looking at you as he drinks in every facial contortion you make from the feeling of his cock bullying itself against your self-destruct button.

He loves the way you bite your lip when you’re close. How your eyes cross and you look so damn wet and pathetic as he brings you to ruin again. It’s a sight he’d have tattooed on the back of his eyelids if he could. He’s been around the world and still couldn’t name a more beautiful sight.

Maybe you could be a porn star, he thinks. If both of your careers fall through, he knows what a good fallback will be if you were so inclined. You’re perfect. Every inch of you, top to bottom, is perfect.

You can barely hold onto consciousness as you feel his heavy breeder balls slap relentlessly against your ass. But you hang on, you have to when he grabs the lower half of your face and pinches your cheeks until your lips pucker.

“Is my good girl about to cum?” he asks, and you nod, dumbly. “That’s it… stay with me. Wanna watch your pretty face while you cum again.” he orders.

You breath faster, fighting against the crushing urge to close your eyes and let go of your body completely. But you’ll do anything he asks, in this moment, so long as he keeps calling you a good girl.

“Can I cum inside?” he asks, thrusts increasing in pace as he jackhammers into you. He’s close, too, but he wants you to cum first. It’ll tip him over the edge if you cream him like this. It’s all he wants. It’s all he needs. “Or should I p-pull out?” he struggles, the thought of spraying your body with his seed appeals to him just as much.

“D-Don’t pull out, Rensuke, don’t you dare…” you command. “Hnf, ah, I’m! Haaah, aah, f-fuck—!” you finish.

“Shit, shit.” he follows you right after. It seems that he would have came inside whether you wanted him to or not. “Ohhhh, fuck, baby. Fuckin’ perfect pussy… take it.” he finishes, too, his pace only slowing by a fraction as his cock spurts rope after rope of pearlescent cum into your cunt.

The sound of water calms after some time. The waves lap around you, carefully, as you breathe and sweat after such a vigorous workout.

It surprises you, a little, as he kisses you after the fact. You thought he’d turn a little colder after he got what he wanted. But you underestimate him again, clearly, as he kisses you sweetly.

“That… amazing.” you tell him, not possessing the energy to fill the rest of the sentence. The start and end are enough for him to figure it out, though. And he cradles your body in his arms as he walks you both to the shallower end of the pool with the staircase. “’m so tired.”

“I know, baby.” he hushes you, you feel like a child in his hold. You’re so little in comparison and you’re still surprised he didn’t break you. He manages to effortlessly pick up his jersey and walk you towards the pool room door. “Gonna get you cleaned up, ‘n we can go straight to sleep.” he promises.

You can’t remember the last time you got such a good nights sleep. Really, you barely remember even falling asleep. You remember Rensuke washing your body and your hair in a warm bubble bath. But you don’t remember him putting you to bed.

Waking up in his arms was a nice feeling, though.

So nice you felt compelled to wake him up with a reward.

He stirred in his sleep as you began to kiss down his bare chest and further down his body. He’s a light sleeper, you came to realise, as he woke up with a cheeky smile on his face and asked what you were doing.

You took his cock between your lips and showed him just how thankful you were for his attentive treatment and aftercare from last night. And you may have wanted to give him a reason to remember you if he wanted to consider going on another date.

He got close.

Really close.

Until he pulled you away to sit on his cock.

“’m not wasting my cum in your mouth when I can cream this cunt again.” he smirks, helping you straddle his hips before lowering yourself down onto that perfect fucking dick again. And he watches you ride him, his jersey riding up slightly with each rise and fall of your hips.

“L-Love your cock, Rensuke, s’fucking big.” you moan like a slut with no remorse. You can’t act coy anymore. Not after last night.

“S’all yours, baby.” he tells you. His attention is stolen from observing your enjoyment when he hears a buzzing on the side table. He reaches for it, and you don’t even notice while your eyes are screwed shut.

And he realises it isn’t his phone.

It’s yours.

He moves slightly, so that he’s sitting upright, covering your mouth as he answers the call. Your blood runs cold as you feel the cold glass of your iPhone screen pressed against your cheek and your ear. Your eyes widened in horror as you look down at Rensuke for help.

“Hello?!” Maisie.

He uncovers your mouth, allowing you to speak. “H-Hey, Maisie.”

“I texted you so many times, where have you been? Did you get home alright? I was so worried!” she yells at you. You can tell she’s in her office pacing back and forth on the tiles as her heels click with each step. She’s pacing. She’s furious.

“S-Sorry! I was just, it was a weird night!” you try and answer simply without lying or giving too much away. But your heart quick starts again as Rensuke holds onto your hips. You're mouthing and no no no! Butit’s ignored as he nods sadistically. He holds tightly onto your hips until your flesh spills between his fingers. And he fucks. You whimper pathetically as you seal your lips in a bid to keep quiet. He really is a sadist, he looks like he’s going to cum to the sight of you desperately trying to maintain your composure.

“I cannot believe I set you up with your old bully, that is so my luck.” she laughs. “Did you just get a taxi home?”

“A-Ah! Uh, yeah I know, c-crazy.” you struggle. “S-Sort of. Eliza was in the area so she picked me up.” so much for not lying.

“Oh, really? That’s good.” she replies, though the click clacking of her heels comes to a stop. “Weird, though, considering I rang all of the girls to see if any of them had talked to you. None of them did.”

“T-That’s… weird.” you reply, eyes rolling back as you try and maintain a level head and think of a way to get off the call. “Um, I uh—”

“I’m at work, just looking through some of my client's details. I’ve got Rensuke’s address up on my screen right now.” she starts. Oh fuck. “You know what else is on my screen?”

“W-What?”

“Find my fucking friend you little slut! Oh my God!” she screams, though you can’t tell if she’s actually screaming or if it’s melded into laughter. “Did you fuck your bully? You whore!”

“I— It’s complicated, nngh!” your free hand flies to your mouth as you spasm through another mind-altering orgasm shatters through you. Rensuke keeps a firm hold of your hips as you tighten around his cock. You hold the phone as far away from your face as you possibly can, though it doesn’t matter. Not when Rensuke cums in you again with no regard to his volume.

“Oh… my God.” Maisie speaks, though you barely hear it. You bring the phone back to your ear and sigh. You already know you’re busted, there’s no point in hiding it now. “I thought I heard a mattress squeaking. Have you just fucked?!”

“Hmph… yeah. Sorry.”

“I’ll pick you up later if you need a lift, I want all the details you absolute slut.” she laughs, sitting down in her office chair as she actually starts to do some work. “How was the date though, was it good?” she asks, knowing she’ll have to go soon.

You look at Rensuke’s pink, sweaty face and wide smile. You melt into the way his thumbs stroke into your sides so tenderly. And you smile back at him, a newfound confidence you’ve never felt before.

“It was… fucking amazing.”

#rensuke kunigami x reader #kunigami x reader #rensuke kunigami x you #kunigami smut #bllk x reader #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #kunigami x you #rensuke kunigami smut #tw alcohol consumption #tw dumbification #tw size difference #tw size kink #tw dacryphilia #tw praise #tw bullying mention

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leclsrc · 1 year ago

Text

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff

word count: 13.1k

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily.

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back.

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course.

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room.

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind.

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.”

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip.

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated.

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.”

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.”

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing.

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So.

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers.

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging.

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?”

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft.

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them.

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans.

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.�� His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused.

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything.

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway.

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.”

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go.

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him.

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.”

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one.

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly.

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake.

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it.

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says.

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.”

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him.

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes.

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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bluetimeombre · 11 months ago

Text

ׂ╰┈➤ She’s like a shot of Espresso

You work in a coffee shop and suddenly Jacob is a coffee enthusiast

This man has been appearing in my dreams, he’s just begging for my attention. Btw I totally don’t work in a coffee shop…

ׂ╰┈➤

Teenpopbuzz: we've found jacbobelordi favourite coffee spot! the actor has been seen visiting there on three separate occasions

304k likes 211k comments

user: hubba hubba

user: so princess diana coded

user: he's so pretty

user: breaking, jacobelordi goes to coffee shop THREE times

user: daddy

user: babe,,, come back, the children miss you

user: what i would do to be a coffee cup and sit between his lips

user: help someone said he's princess diana coded

ׂ╰┈➤

Jacob was not a nervous person. He never got nervous and never felt awkward. But this was a trip to the coffee shop he'd frequented and he'd slowly started to get the shakes before every time. What the hell was wrong with him?

He knew what was wrong with him, his friends knew what was wrong with him. He had a crush. A crush on the pretty barista who served him every time.

The cafe had only been opened an hour but he was there and so were you. He realised you were there most days, with a smile and style.

The bell over the door dinged as he walked in and as you finished serving your customer. It was all quiet inside as he strode to the counter.

'Hi,' you smiled as the other customer walked away.

'How you doing?' he asked politely.

'I'm good, your usual?'

He grinned. 'You know it already.'

'Of course. Any plans today?' he knew you were probably just making conversation, but it still felt nice to talk to you.

'Nothing much, just got this book I want to finish.'

'Oh yea? What you reading?'

'Grapes of Wrath,' he said. He moved along the counter with you, keeping conversation.

'You know if you like Steinbeck you should try East of Eden, it's my favourite book.'

'Really?'

You went into describing the book and he listened intently, smiling at you as you got excited over the book. He came in with his own prompts too.

‘Sorry, im keeping up,’ You apologized, sliding his coffee over.

‘No please, I love to hear it. I’ve got nothing much on.’

‘Finishing a Book, very important business,’ You tell him.

When another customer walked in, it was his cue to leave, slowly and looking back at you like one hundred times.

Jacob opened the door, calling to you one more time, completely ignoring the customer that was there. ‘I’ll see you soon!’

You smile and blush.

ׂ╰┈➤

liked by… yourusername, sydney_sweeney, enews, tchalamet & others

Jacobelordi: I’ve heard East of Eden is a good read

1m likes 782k comments

user: aesthetic king

user: he’s so pretty

user: babygurl

user: 😍😍

user: I will bet so much money that’s from the coffee shop he likes or something

user: he’s so bf!!! I need him

user: he was written by a woman people!!!

user: how is he so gorgeous!!

user: I am free and single to hang out on Thursday Jacob, I’ll be free Thursday for us to date if you are free on Thursday

user: I want you

user: he so cute fr

liked by… yourfriend, yourfriend, yourfriendsfriend and jacobelordi

Yourusername: oh no!!! I’m posting my three favorite things! Coffee, books and books! Hope a cute guy who has an affinity for these things doesn’t slide into my dms

105likes 20comments

yourfriend: she’s cute

yourfriend: ur so cool urg!!!

yourfriend: the caption, ur so iconic 😭😭

user: jacobelordi follows her?!?

ׂ╰┈➤

Jacobelordi started following yourusername

Yourusername started following jacobelordi

ׂ╰┈➤

Yourusername DMS

Jacobelordi: 📚

Jacobelordi: oh no, I accidentally tripped and dropped all my classics full of my annotations with all my interesting ideas and thoughts

ׂ╰┈➤

Jacob had a mission.

Your cafe was busier by the time he got in around lunch. It had been a busy week and beside talking to you through instagram, there hasn’t been much chance of a chance to see you.

So boy was he gonna see you today. And he had a plan.

He walked in and couldn’t immediately see you but saw your co-workers, another guy and another girl at the counter. He lingered around. What if you weren’t working today? But he was sure you were, you were always in on this day.

He caught sight of you, talking to a couple out for lunch and he smiled, tapping the book in his pocket.

After you left them to eat their lunch, you strode over. He noticed the blush on your cheeks, he’s hoped you’d be just as nervous.

‘Hey,’ he smiled as you slid behind the counter.

Your co-workers wondered away, clearly trying to make it look as if they weren’t listening.

‘I actually brought something for you,’ he said, suddenly wanting to hide behind his cap.

‘For me?’

With a grin, he slid over Grapes of Wrath. ‘It’s my copy, annotated and that. I just thought you might like to read it.’

‘Oh my god, thank you!’ You practically caressed the book. ‘It’s so funny cause I actually have something for you-‘ then, you pulled out east of Eden. ‘My copy. Not quite annotated but there’s a line or two underlined.’

‘Oh woah,’ the two of you laugh about it, thumbing though the pages.

Finally, Jacob knew he had to ask. He couldn’t not. ‘Maybe, if you’re free- and if you’re up to it, we could meet up and chat about it- and other things of course.’

You watch, blushing.

‘A date!’ He suddenly announced. ‘I’m asking you out on a date.’

You nod. ‘I would love to go on a date with you, just let me know when, you have my number.’

Confused, his brows furrowed until you helped him. You flicked open the cover and on the first page of the book, your number was scribbled.

And he knew, he was in bad.

ׂ╰┈➤

Teenpopbuzz: new couple alert?! Jacobelordi has been spotted out and about with a mystery girl a few times now, could this be his new lucky woman?!

856k likes 445k comments

user: that should be me!!! Holding your hand!!

user: omg they’re so cute!!

user: isn’t this yourusername, who works in the cafe?

user: he’s literally just taking pictures of her, it’s so cute!!!

user: she better sleep with one eye open

user: I’m in love with them

user: he looks happy eeeekk

user: yourusername

user: ok I’ve stalked yourusername, she works in the cafe he’s been seen at

user: they’re so cute

user: I like the dog

liked by… yourusername, florencepugh, emmachamberlian & tchalamet

Jacobelordi: six months of free coffee! Thank you my love x

tagged: yourusername

1.1m likes 802k comments

user: AHHHHHHHH

user: he made it official!!!!

user: my parents!

user: she’s actually so pretty wtf

user: I can’t tell who i want to be more

user: the fact they met through the cafe she works at, talk about meet cute

user: telling my kids this is Romeo and Juliet

user: omg the free coffee comment, hahahah

user: do you think she’s seen saltburn?

yourusername: <3

#jacob elordi #nate jacobs #felix #felix x reader #jacob x reader #jacob imagine #saltburn #cafe aesthetic #imagines

937 notes · View notes

finelinefae · 24 days ago

Text

my darling

synopsis: a love triangle

word count: 10.8k

contains: angst angst angst, love triangle, mfm, best friends to lovers, boarding school, violence, unrequited love,

a/n: i wrote this for wattpad during the My Policeman era. I wanted to post it here after re-reading it. I remember this being one of the first pieces of fanfic i felt super proud of !! warning it is pretty sad

. . .

Then — 1996

Dear Diary,

Today we moved into our new home in Halton. It’s small, quaint, and quiet—very quiet. The kind of place where everyone seems set in their routines, the same patterns repeating every day. I already miss London. Mum says this will be good for us, though. Good to get away from the drama. Good to get away from Dad.

The house isn’t as big as our old one. I have to share a room with Delilah now, but it’s fine—I’ll be off to boarding school by the end of the summer. Mum says I’ll enjoy it since she went to the same school at my age, but I think she’s just trying to make me feel better. Who actually enjoys living at school?

It’s a three-hour drive from Halton, which feels like a world away. I’m nervous, excited, sad, and happy all at once. The feelings are so overwhelming they all blur together into something I can only describe as... heavy. Like my life is a snow globe someone’s just shaken up, glitter falling everywhere. It looks magical at first, but the reality is you’re stuck cleaning it up for weeks, finding it in the oddest places long after.

I miss my dog. I never got to say goodbye.

Dad cried when we left. I’ve never seen him cry before. He told me it wasn’t goodbye, just a "see you later." Mum always says Dad’s a good liar, but I don’t think he was lying this time. Maybe it was the tears—they don’t suit him.

Dear Diary,

Today I moved into my dorm at Southend Park School.

Mum was annoyed we had to wake up before seven to pack the car and drive me down, even though this was all her idea. She’s probably just tired—or maybe something else. I have a suspicion she’s met someone. I’m not sure how she moved on from Dad so quickly. Did she ever really love him?

My dorm has six girls, including me. I’ve mostly been talking to Ellis, who’s in the room next door. She’s fourteen, older than the rest of us, but only because her birthday is the 1st of September. Today’s the third, so her advantage is technical, but she likes to remind us.

Being alone here scares me, but it’s nothing new. Delilah always had loads of friends, and Dad was always working. Mum was usually out socializing, too.

Mum cried as we finished unpacking, promising she’d pick me up for half-term or that I could come home anytime. But I don’t want to go home. I hate it there.

Tomorrow is a full day of inductions, and I’m worried about making friends. Southend Park is a mixed school, and boys make me nervous. I’d rather have no friends at all than feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

I still feel like I’m picking up glitter from months ago. I wonder when it will finally stop.

Dear Diary,

I made two friends. You’ll never guess—they’re boys!

Their names are Harry and Dylan. They’re both thirteen, like me, but they feel older somehow. They even live in the same dorm and invited me over this weekend.

We met during lunch in the courtyard. I was sitting alone when Dylan walked up first, chatting easily and cracking jokes. Harry followed behind, much quieter. Dylan has blond hair and a small scar on his eyebrow from climbing trees back in Morston. Harry’s hair is thick and curly—I wanted to touch it but stopped myself because, well, that would’ve been weird.

Harry didn’t say much at first, though I noticed him glancing at me. When I met his gaze, he blushed and looked down at his extra-polished school shoes.

We didn’t talk much again until the end of the day, on the way back to the dorms. That’s when we compared timetables and realized we share four classes, including English Literature. It’s just Harry and me in that one, though.

I never thought I’d be friends with boys, but I like it. It feels different from being friends with girls—less pressure to act outgoing or girly. I hope we stay friends. I like them both a lot.

. . .

Then — 2000

“Hey, Harry,” Y/N called, running across the field toward the headmaster’s office where Harry stood, focused on his Nokia flip phone.

Harry glanced up, his expression softening when he saw her. He tucked the phone into his pocket and waved her over. Despite the end-of-day chaos, both were still dressed in their school uniforms. “Hey, baby.” He greeted her with a quick kiss, pulling her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist. He loved how perfectly she fit against him, as though they were made for each other.

“What’s going on? Aren’t we meeting Dylan to go to Ellis’ dorm?” Y/N asked, frowning slightly as she looked around for their other best friend.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “We are, but Dylan got caught passing notes to Casey Becker in geometry. He’s stuck with thirty minutes in the headmaster’s office to make amends.”

Y/N chuckled, her laugh warm and familiar. “Again? He’s going to get himself expelled if he’s not careful.” She slid her hands under Harry’s blazer, warming them against his torso.

Harry brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his thumb linger on her cheekbone. “How was your day?” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“It was fine,” Y/N replied. “I scored three points in netball, and Tessa Riley gave me daggers in the changing room.” She giggled, leaning into him.

Harry smiled, pride gleaming in his eyes. “That’s m’girl.” He bent down and kissed her forehead gently.

“Oh, please, don’t make me sick,” a familiar voice drawled, breaking the moment.

“Hi, Dylan.” Y/N turned to see him strolling down the stone steps, his blazer slung over his shoulder and a cigarette dangling between his fingers. She leaned back against Harry, crossing her arms.

“Hello, my darling Y/N,” Dylan teased, his tone playful as he lit the cigarette with practiced ease.

“Seriously, Dylan?” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you really need another detention?”

“Don’t you smoke, Styles?” Dylan shot back, grinning. “Besides, Mary would love to see me again after our chat earlier. She’s got a soft spot for me.” He smirked, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping away from Harry’s warmth. She was long used to Dylan’s antics—four and a half years of friendship had left little room for surprises.

The three of them had been inseparable since their first days at Southend Park Boarding School. Despite their differences in personality, they were like a family unit, supporting one another through the highs and lows of adolescence.

Dylan, the loudest of the trio, was notorious for his sharp wit and knack for trouble. Teachers despaired over his behavior, but students were drawn to his charm—especially the girls, who fell for his rebellious streak and the ever-present cigarette.

Harry, by contrast, was the golden boy: smart, polite, and beloved by staff. He balanced his role as student ambassador with captaining the football team, a position that made him one of the most popular boys in school. Dylan teasingly called him a “teacher’s pet,” but Harry wore the label without shame.

Y/N was the quietest of the three, rarely seeking the spotlight. She volunteered in the school library every Tuesday and spent her free time with her dorm mates. Still, Harry and Dylan were fiercely protective of her, and she often marveled at how lucky she was to have them.

The trio walked out of the school gates toward the housing blocks, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon sun. Harry carried Y/N’s backpack on one shoulder, his free hand clasping hers. Dylan trailed behind, typing on his phone with an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

“Ellis doesn’t want you bringing anything to the party this time, Dylan,” Y/N warned, glancing over her shoulder. “You know what happened last time. If you pull that again, you’re getting kicked out of school.”

“My darling Y/N,” Dylan began with exaggerated sincerity, pausing for effect, “only for you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

When they reached her dorm, Y/N kissed Harry on the cheek and took her bag from his shoulder. “I’ll see you both later?” she asked, her eyes bright.

Dylan saluted her without looking up from his phone, while Harry smiled warmly. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Harry,” she replied before disappearing inside.

Harry and Dylan walked in silence toward their dorm. The tension was palpable, Dylan unusually quiet as Harry’s mind churned with unspoken thoughts.

“We’re going to have to tell her at some point,” Dylan murmured, his voice low as the setting sun bathed the path in a golden glow.

Harry’s heart tightened. “No, we don’t.”

“Harry—”

“Shut up, Dylan. Nothing happened.” Harry’s voice was sharp, cutting Dylan off before he could continue.

They stopped, staring at each other, the air between them heavy. Harry’s frustration burned in his eyes, while Dylan’s sadness hung like a weight on his shoulders.

“I love her,” Harry finally said, his voice trembling. “I’ll never love anyone else as much as I love Y/N.”

Without another word, he turned and stormed into their dormitory, leaving Dylan alone on the pavement. Dylan exhaled shakily, the ache in his chest unbearable.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Diary,

It’s been a month since my fifteenth birthday, and Harry finally asked me out on a date. It feels like a dream, the kind where everything is so perfect you fear waking up to find it never happened.

To be honest, I think I’m already in love with him. He’s always been so kind to me, much more than Dylan. Harry carries my bag to class when I have netball, and sometimes, during English Literature, I catch him staring at me. There’s something about the way his gaze lingers that makes me feel seen.

In art class, he taught me how to use watercolors for the first time, his thumb brushing against mine as he guided me. Little moments like that remind me how much I care for him—so much that the thought of being without him feels unbearable. Is that dramatic? Probably. But I can’t help it if it’s true.

Even when I’m talking to Ellis during lunch or before bed, my mind wanders back to Harry—his smile, his eyes, the way he laughs at my jokes even when they aren’t funny, and how he hugs me differently from everyone else.

It feels strange to be fifteen and falling so deeply. What do I know about love at this age? How much further can I fall?

I think I’m going to love him forever. I hope he loves me forever too.

Dear Diary,

Harry kissed me today. My first kiss—with the boy I love most in the entire world.

I knew it was going to happen. We’d just finished dinner in the dining hall when he asked if I wanted to take a walk in the gardens. Dylan wanted to come along, but Harry shook his head, saying he wanted it to be just the two of us.

I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked back and saw Dylan standing there, his expression heavy as he watched us leave. He kept staring at Harry, even as we walked past the window overlooking the gardens.

Harry brought me to the tulips because he knows they’re my favorite. He said my braid looked pretty today, and that’s when I knew—I truly, completely loved him. It was the worst braid I’ve ever done, but he still thought it was beautiful.

We sat on a swinging bench, listening to birds returning to their nests. When he said my name, it sounded magical, like it had been made for his lips alone. I turned to look at him, and that’s when he leaned in and kissed me.

It felt like a scene from a movie.

No one ever tells you what it’s like to kiss someone for the first time. The way their breath mingles with yours, the world fading away as you close your eyes and step into a place so tender it consumes you. It makes you wonder if you’ve ever been truly loved before.

We only stopped because we heard a rustling in the bushes. We looked around but didn’t find anything, so Harry walked me back to my dorm. He kissed me again outside the door, and I floated through the rest of the night, humming to myself as I got ready for bed.

But when I think back to that moment, I could swear I saw a tuft of blond hair sticking out from behind a bush.

. . .

Now — 2000

Y/N sat cross-legged in front of the mirror on Ellis’ floor, carefully applying mascara as Fiona Apple played softly in the background. Ellis sat nearby, painting her nails a deep red.

“I’m just saying,” Ellis began, waving the brush for emphasis, “you and Harry have been dating for two years, and you haven’t done the deed yet?”

Y/N flushed at the mention of sex, shifting uncomfortably. She hated talking about it, even with Harry. Maybe it was because she didn’t know much about it or because she’d never had a safe space to ask questions, but every time the topic came up—whether in conversation or during truth or dare—she wanted to run for cover.

“We’re waiting for the right time,” Y/N said evenly, her voice robotic as she repeated the well-rehearsed answer.

“The right time?” Ellis scoffed. “I’ve never seen a couple more in love—it’s nauseating.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind drifting to moments when she’d wanted to take things further with Harry. But he always stopped before it went too far. Sometimes it made her feel like she wasn’t enough—pretty enough, desirable enough—but then he’d kiss her softly and remind her how beautiful she was, stroking her cheek as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve done... things, but not that.”

“Is Harry religious or something?” Ellis asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No, I don’t think so,” Y/N replied with a frown. “He’s never mentioned it.”

“Maybe he’s waiting until marriage,” Ellis mused.

The thought of marrying Harry made Y/N’s heart swell. She’d dreamed of it ever since their first kiss in the gardens—walking down the aisle in a white dress, Harry waiting for her at the end, tears in his eyes. Maybe they’d both cry.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Y/N said, her voice soft but certain. “I love him enough to wait as long as he needs me to.”

Ellis groaned, grabbing a bottle of vodka from her bedside table. “You can’t say stuff like that when I haven’t had a single drink.” She poured herself a shot and downed it in one go. “Okay, continue.”

Y/N laughed and turned back to her reflection, humming Queen’s Love of My Life as her thoughts drifted back to Harry.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Harry,

Today we went to the beach—the three of us. Me, you, and Y/N. I know in most situations it’s you, Y/N, then me, but in these letters, it will always be me and you.

We’d been planning this trip for weeks. It’s a three-hour drive to the coast from school, and Y/N had been complaining about the journey the entire time. I didn’t mind. Is it wrong of me to want to sit next to you on a bus full of people not one of them knowing who we are for three whole hours? Our knees touching for three whole hours? Sand on your feet and your hair salty from the sea, inhaling your scent and wanting your hand to touch my thigh for three whole hours?

When we got there, the morning was overcast, but by the time we hit the sand, the sun broke through the clouds. It was perfect. The light caught your skin, making it glisten, and your eyes shone with that impossible sea-glass green. I wanted to look into them forever, but you were too busy looking at Y/N.

I tried to catch your attention—touching your shoulder as I passed by, reaching for the beach bag at the same time as you, brushing my fingers against yours. But it didn’t matter. You only had eyes for her, and I only had eyes for you.

When you kissed her in the gardens, a part of me died. I had been pining for you for so long, silently hoping you’d see me, but it was always her. I felt stupid, running miles afterward, the wind howling in my ears: You fool, you idiot, how could he ever love you?

I didn’t want to feel this way, Harry. I tried to bury it, to pretend it wasn’t real, but when I met you, everything I’d hidden about myself unraveled.

The day wasn’t without its drama. Y/N, distracted, stepped into the road thinking the approaching van was the bus. You moved so fast, grabbing her and pulling her back before the van could hit her. I watched the terror flash across your face, the way you held her afterward as she cried. You kissed her forehead, comforted her, showed her the kind of love I’d only ever dreamed of.

And I hated her for it.

I feel terrible admitting this because I do love Y/N. I truly do. But most days, I hate her, and only because she has you.

When we finally got to the beach, the three of us ran toward the waves, shedding our clothes as we went, laughing like we were carefree children. For a moment, we were. We left our troubles behind in the sand.

You swung Y/N over your shoulder as you splashed into the water, and I couldn’t help but admire the way your muscles flexed. You were a work of art, Harry, something meant to be admired in a gallery. And I was nothing more than an observer, longing for what I could never have.

Later, Y/N went to get ice cream. Before she left, she asked for your order, and I already knew what you’d say—mint chocolate chip. The way she looked surprised made me feel smug for a second, but that quickly disappeared when she said it was her favorite too.

While she was gone, I felt a cramp in my shoulder. “Let me,” you murmured, and before I could answer, your fingertips ghosted over my shoulder, pressing into the tight muscle.

I couldn’t breathe, Harry. You were so close, your breath warm against my neck. For a split second, I thought if I just turned my head, I could kiss you.

I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live. Even if you do.

. . .

Now — 2000

Dylan and Harry were in their dorm room, preparing for the party. Harry stood in front of the mirror, anxiously gelling his hair back.

“I think I’m going to do it,” Harry said suddenly, turning to face Dylan. “I’m going to go all the way with Y/N.”

Dylan froze, his heart sinking. He lit a cigarette, trying to appear nonchalant as he perched on the windowsill. “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His voice betrayed him, tinged with irritation and jealousy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m just saying, are you sure it’s the right time to sleep with her? After... what happened?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Nothing happened. It was a mistake.”

“You keep saying that,” Dylan said, standing now, his voice rising. “Like you’re trying to gaslight me into thinking I imagined it. But I’ve imagined kissing you enough times to know what’s real and what’s not.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching. “I was drunk, and you took advantage of me.”

The words hit Dylan like a slap, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Don’t try that with me, Harry. It might work in your petty arguments with Y/N, but it won’t work on me. You’re the one twisting the truth to fit your narrative.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Harry snapped. “I only care about Y/N. And if you can’t handle that, maybe you need to step away—from both of us.”

“Step away?” Dylan said incredulously, his voice breaking. “You want me to walk away from the only two people who’ve ever cared about me? You want me to walk away from you?”

Harry hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “You know how I feel about Y/N. I love her. I’m in love with her. Even if I felt something for you, it would never compare.”

“You’re lying,” Dylan whispered, his eyes glassy. “If you loved her so much, you wouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.”

“You don’t know anything!” Harry exploded, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you know what would happen if someone found out? What it would do to Y/N? To us? I felt nothing! It was a mistake!”

“Harry—”

“No,” Harry cut him off. “Whatever feelings you have, whatever intentions, you need to get over them.”

“That’s not as easy as you think—”

“You have to.” Harry’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Dylan stared at him, shattered, as Harry turned and stormed out.

He left Dylan standing there, broken, feeling like Harry had taken his very soul with him.

. . .

Then — 1999

Dear Harry,

We’ve been assigned as partners in media class, and now we have to make a music video. Naturally, you asked Y/N if she’d star in it. You told her she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen and that she’d be perfect for it. She blushed, of course, and said yes. Then you kissed her—so long and so deeply that I had to look away.

I imagined myself in her place, wondering what it would be like to kiss you in public, to have the world see how much I adored you. If it were allowed, I don’t think I’d ever stop kissing you.

Today, we filmed the music video. You wanted it to feel like a coming-of-age story. I’d wanted something more abstract, but I agreed to your ideas, nodding eagerly at every suggestion, whether it was brilliant or terrible.

We filmed in the gardens—my least favorite place in the entire school. That’s where you kissed Y/N for the first time, and if I could erase that night from my memory, I would in a heartbeat.

The sun was shining as you whispered into Y/N’s ear while I set up the camera. I tried to block out the sound of your laughter, the sight of her hand on your shoulder.

“Are we ready?” I called, my voice louder than I intended. You straightened up immediately.

“Dylan, why don’t you be in the video with me?” Y/N smiled warmly. She had that rare ability to make everyone feel seen, like she was radiating sunshine. It was impossible not to smile back.

“My darling, you know I’m not nearly as perfect as you,” I teased, watching her blush.

I don’t even remember when I started calling her “my darling.” The first time, I remember catching the flash of jealousy in your eyes. I liked that. I liked seeing you react to me, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted. You’re used to it now, but sometimes, when I say it, I still see a flicker of something in your gaze.

The music video took all day to shoot. Every time Y/N nailed a scene, you rewarded her with a kiss. I worked hard too, Harry. Shouldn’t I have been rewarded in some way?

When Y/N left for her library shift that evening, it was just the two of us. You wanted to capture the soft glow of the sunset, so we stayed behind to get more footage.

“My mother wants me to go into politics,” you said as we sat cross-legged on the grass, the camera between us. “But I’d love to do this—be a director. I’ve always wanted to be an artist of some kind. It’s a silly dream, but I think about it all the time.”

I could imagine it. You had a way of leading people, commanding attention without being arrogant. You cared so deeply—for the art, for the people—that it would probably destroy you someday.

“It’s not silly,” I said. “It’s never silly to dream. My God, Harry, we only live once. Might as well do everything we can to feel something in the little time we have.”

You looked at me then, really looked at me. For the first time, I thought you might be feeling a fraction of what I felt every day. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Y/N knows.”

“It’ll be our secret,” I whispered. And for a moment, I could’ve sworn you glanced at my lips.

Then, just as quickly, you diverted the topic. Grabbing the camera, you aimed it at me lying in the grass. “Looks like Y/N’s not the only model anymore,” you teased.

I tried to act indifferent, but I would’ve stayed there all night if it meant seeing you laugh like that.

It makes me wonder, Harry—do you know how much power you have over your friends? Do you know that you have two people who worship the ground you walk on? How does it feel to be desired? How does it feel to have a choice in who you love?

. . .

Now — 2000

“You’re here!” Y/N beamed, running into Harry’s arms and wrapping her hands around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, kissing her temple before setting her down.

The party was already in full swing. Students from across campus had crammed into Ellis’ dorm, the air thick with music, laughter, and the faint smell of alcohol.

“Hi, Dylan,” Y/N greeted, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re dressed pretty smart. Planning on impressing anyone tonight?”

“Only you, darling,” Dylan replied, forcing a wink and a smirk despite the ache in his chest. Harry’s words from earlier still rang in his ears, but he pushed them aside.

Harry’s eyes darted to the cup in Y/N’s hand. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, his tone light but concerned.

“It’s water,” she whispered with a smile. Harry relaxed. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and he knew that.

“You look so pretty,” he said, marvelling at her dress. It was the one she wore for special occasions—one he had once told her was his favourite. A pang of guilt pricked at his heart as she looked back at him, her doe eyes filled with love.

“Come dance with me!” she said, pulling him toward the living room. “Both of you! My boys!”

Harry and Dylan followed her to the dance floor. The song Love My Way blared through the speakers, and Y/N moved between them, carefree and radiant.

At first, Harry danced with her, his focus entirely on Y/N. But then his gaze shifted to Dylan, who was swaying along with the music. Something unspoken passed between them, an invisible thread pulling them closer.

Harry laughed when Dylan moved towards him and for a moment they had forgotten everything around them. Dylan was just Dylan and Harry was just Harry, two boys who felt something they weren’t allowed to feel in the eyes of everyone else.

Harry was so close, their faces almost touching and for a moment Dylan thought they might kiss. But the blissful moment was broken as Harry stepped away, shaking his head, “N-No.” He whispered, “No, No, No.” He shook his head, his eyes frantic in search of Y/N.

“O-Oh, Harry,” Y/N yelped as he grabbed hold of her hand and lead her out of Ellis’ dorm and over to her own, three doors down from where the party was happening.

“What are you doing? Are you okay?” She cups his face in her hands and he exhales, trying to regain composure. This was the girl he loved, the only girl he could ever love and being in her hands felt like home. Didn’t it?

“Y-Y/N, I-I think I’m ready.” He presses his forehead against hers, kissing her bottom lip. “I’m ready.”

Her lips part in shock. She hadn’t been expecting this tonight and she wasn’t sure where Harry’s sudden desperation was coming from. He kissed down her neck as she tried to speak to him, “H-Harry, a-are you sure?” He nodded, his mouth leaving open mouthed kisses on her shoulder.

“I love you Y/N.” He looked into her eyes and she saw the sincerity behind them but also a hint of something else that she couldn’t quite place.

He started to peel her clothing off, his fingertips gently brushing against her soft skin. She tried to steady her breathing but her chest caved in and out as the oxygen in the room seemed to be escaping as he moved down her body. “Harry,” She whispered and he could hear the desperation in her voice. She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers together.

Y/N was stripped down to her bra and underwear. This was the most skin she had revealed to anybody but she trusted Harry with everything in her, he was her best friend. He blew warm air over the thin material of her bra and her nipples hardened, an overwhelming sense of desire and lust flooding her insides. It was so new and overwhelming, her hands shaking as she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on the roots.

“Baby,” He whispered, his hands cupping her thighs as he pressed kisses down her body.

“Harry, wait.” She murmured, his eyes looking up from where he was laying between her legs, “You’re still dressed.” She sat up and tugged on the hem of his sweater.

He laughed softly, as she struggled to pull the sweater over his head. She marvelled at the sound and kissed the tip of his nose. He pulled her onto his lap and she grinded her hips against his, “God look at you.” He whispered. “Don’t leave me Y/N. You can never leave me.”

“I’m never going to.” She said it like it was a promise.

His hands hooked the straps of her bra and he gently pulled them down, her breath hitching as the pad of his thumb brushed against the side of her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in tightly, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he inhaled her.

This was going to be perfect, she thought, nothing could go wrong.

She grinded her hips against him again, a groan eliciting from his lip and a name escaping past the lips he had kissed her with so many times.

“Dylan.” Y/N froze. Her blood ran cold, and she pulled away as though Harry’s touch burned her.

“What did you say?” She pulled away, suddenly being naked in front of him didn’t feel right, being in a space alone with him didn’t feel right, everything she had ever felt for him before this moment didn’t feel right.

“Y/N,” He reached for her but she slipped away from him, slipped out of his touch, a touch she begged for just moments ago.

Harry’s heart no longer existed, wherever it was it had abandoned him and left him here in this terrible moment to fend for himself. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he watched Y/N try to pick up her discarded clothes. This wasn’t how it was meant to be, she was suppose to be picking up his clothes after a night making love to each other.

“Y-You said his name.” Y/N whimpered, she was panicking and Harry could do nothing but watch.

“Baby I-”

“NO.” She spat, “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

Harry watched as she turned around and clutched at her head, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. She sobbed and sobbed, his hear wrenching at the sound of it. He had never heard a sound so painful in his life and he wanted to die in this very moment.

“No, No, No, No.” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“Y/N please just let me explain.” Harry tried, crouching down in front of her and trying to place a hand on her now clothed shoulder.

“NO.” She pushed him away and leaped back, her back hitting the wall.

Harry was broken. He was truly broken. This was something well out of his reach in fixing and nothing he could do or say could make up for the fact that he had hurt the two people he loved and cherished the most in this world, in the span of one night.

“Get out of my room!” She began to scream, “Get out of here!”

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

“Hey, you guys in there?” Dylan’s voice called from the hallway.

Before Harry could respond, Y/N lunged for the door, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Get out of my room!” she screamed, her voice raw with betrayal.

Harry caught her before she reached Dylan, her fists pounding against his chest. “I’m broken,” she whimpered, her strength fading. “You broke me.”

And for the first time, Harry knew what it felt like to be utterly powerless.

. . .

Then — 2000

Dear Diary,

You know those secrets so big they feel like they could swallow you whole? The kind you promise never to tell a soul for as long as you live? At first, they consume you, taking over every thought and breath. But over time, they settle into the corners of your mind, a quiet part of you that only stirs when something triggers it.

Well, today I made one of those secrets.

It was a Tuesday, the day I volunteer in the library after school. There’s something peaceful about wandering the empty halls when no one else is around—a stark contrast to the chaos between periods. Mrs. Ableton asked me to deliver a stack of books to the English Literature cupboard. Our copies of The Catcher in the Rye were practically falling apart, so we’d ordered replacements.

As I walked through the hall, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye near the classroom where Harry and I have English together. Curious, I paused, almost dropping the books in my hands.

Harry was leaning against a desk, and Dylan stood in front of him. At first, I thought nothing of it and smiled, reaching for the door handle to make myself known. But then Dylan stepped closer, touched Harry’s hand, and kissed him.

I froze.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The same lips that had kissed mine were now kissing the lips of my best friend.

I wanted to cry, but I was too shocked to do anything but stand there, watching. A part of me hoped I was trapped in a nightmare—that I’d wake up, call Harry, and laugh about how silly it all was. But when Dylan pulled back, Harry grabbed his arm and kissed him again.

That time, I couldn’t watch.

I backed away, the tears finally falling. My mind raced as I searched for somewhere—anywhere—I could cry louder, scream even, because this wasn’t something I could cry about quietly.

Harry was mine. But he was also Dylan’s.

By the time I went to bed, I’d convinced myself I would confront them. I’d tell them I saw what happened and ask if we could move on, pretend it never happened. But as the hours stretched on, I realized I didn’t want to speak about it. Talking about it would mean reliving it, over and over.

I didn’t want to remember.

I just wanted Harry.

So, this is a secret I’ll take to my grave. I’ll never tell a soul I watched Harry kiss Dylan in a way he never kissed me.

Even if it breaks me.

. . .

Now — 2000

“What happened?” Dylan asked. They were back in his dorm now, Harry pacing the room like a caged animal.

“She knows,” Harry muttered, his fingers pulling at his hair—a habit whenever he was upset. “She knows about us, what we did.”

Dylan collapsed onto the bed, his face pale. “How?”

Harry stopped and turned to him, shame written all over his face. “I said your name.”

Dylan’s shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands. Images of Y/N, broken and sobbing on her bedroom floor, flashed through his mind. She had begged them to fix her, but they were the ones who broke her.

“It’s fine,” Harry rambled, his voice shaking. “I-I’ll give her some time, however long she needs. Then I’ll explain. I’ll explain it was a misunderstanding.”

“Harry,” Dylan said gently, standing to take Harry’s hands in his own. “I don’t think there’s enough time in the world for Y/N to get over this.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and a sob escaped him as he crumpled into Dylan’s arms. Dylan ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, resting his cheek against Harry’s head. “It’s okay, love,” he whispered. “Everything will be alright.”

“I hurt her so bad, Dylan,” Harry cried. “I love her, and I hurt her.”

“She was always going to find out,” Dylan said softly, the truth cutting deeper than any lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Harry whispered.

Dylan sighed. “Why do you always talk about how things are meant to be? You act like your life was mapped out before you left the womb. Was it ‘meant to be’ that the three of us became inseparable? That you fell in love with both of us because you care so deeply? That I fell in love with you because you see art in everything? None of this was ‘meant to be,’ Harry. It just happened. And now we deal with it.”

Harry pulled back, tears streaking his face. “You still love me? Even after I pushed you away?”

Dylan smiled sadly, wiping a tear from Harry’s cheek. “I love you despite everything.”

Harry’s lips ghosted over Dylan’s, and for a moment, it felt like all their pain had been lifted. “Dylan,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling as he said the name again and again, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You can say my name as much as you want, love,” Dylan murmured. “I’ll always be here.”

. . .

Three weeks passed and the friends were no longer talking to each other, instead they acted as though they didn’t know each other as they passed each other in the hallway.

Harry had to try and not flinch when he saw Y/N scurry pass him, her eyes red and bloodshot as Ellis comforted her, glaring at Harry as they did. He wanted to speak to her but he was never given the chance to, rightly so considering what he had done to her.

Dylan and Harry, mostly Harry, thought it would best to keep their distance for a while. It killed them both to not be around each other but for the sake of their friendship with Y/N, they shared small moments of brief eye contact and touches throughout the day. Neither of them knew what was to come for the both of them but this limbo was enough for now.

Dylan ate lunch alone and as he did, he listened to the conversations of everyone around him. He wondered what it felt like for them to go about their day feeling like they belong in their own skin and not feel ashamed over who they love. He had never felt so alienated and so out of touch with himself.

He had been given an after school detention for an hour with Mr Henley after calling him sexist in front of the class. No one was around when he left the classroom until he saw a group of girls walking across the field.

At the end of the line was Y/N, wearing her netball uniform.

She must have caught sight of him because the next thing he knew, she was walking up to him. He had to check behind him to see he was seeing correctly.

“Hi Dylan,” She keeps her distance for reasons unknown to him but being around her again made him relax, he missed the friendship he shared right at the very beginning when they were thirteen and picking each other up from class to go to the sweet shop after school.

“Hey Y/N.” He offers her a smile.

“How are you doing?” He didn’t miss the way she gripped her bag like she was trying to stop herself from saying anything she really wanted to.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Y/N huffs, “I’ve had better days.” “Y/N-”

“Just tell me this,” She starts, “H-How long?”

Dylan decided he would be as honest and as straight to the point as he could be, it was what she deserved at least.

“Y/N the only thing we did was kiss one time. Harry stopped it because he’s in love with you.”

“And you’re in love with him.”

“Y-Yes.”

Y/N laughs incredulously, “We could never just be three best friends could we? It was always going to be complicated.”

“We could still be best friends Y/N.”

“But it’s not the same now is it?” She bit back and Dylan realised he needed to be careful with what he said. “Is he sad?”

“Terribly. Sometimes I hear him crying in his room at night.”

A silence fell between them which was strange. Y/N and Dylan has always had a brother-sister relationship, Dylan was always one to tease Y/N and make her laugh but right now it seemed all he was doing was making her upset.

“I’m moving schools.” Y/N confessed, “At the end of the term, I’m moving to Bridgewater. Mum’s moving in with her fiancee, and she wants me to be closer.”

“When were you going to tell us?” Dylan was shocked.

“I was given the choice. I could stay here or move to another school but if I stayed I’d have to stay at my dad’s during the holidays and I’m not in the mood to be lectured during my time away from school.”

Dylan didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t fathom the three of them not being together for such a long period of time. “I know what you’re thinking. I know I need to tell him but if we are going to have a shot at being friends again, I need to be away from you both.”

“Y/N,” Dylan shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to be like this,”

“You know I saw you when you kissed each other in the English Literature classroom?” She confessed, Dylan’s lips parting. “He kissed you in a way that he never kissed me. Everytime we kissed afterwards all I could think about was how different it was, how I desperately wanted him to kiss me the way I had seen him kiss you. I used to write in my diary about how I would die if I didn’t have him near me. I thought he would be the end of me but I didn’t realise you would be too.”

“I know he loves you Dylan and... I’m happy for you but I’m not selfless enough to stand beside you both and watch you fall in love when I so desperately love him too.”

“Y/N,” Dylan reaches out for her hand and takes it, “I’m sorry.” “I know Dylan, I know.”

. . .

Now — 2000

Harry’s leg wouldn’t stop jittering as he sat outside the school library on a Tuesday evening. He’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, replaying it over and over in his mind. He had spent countless hours rehearsing his apology to Y/N until it became a permanent loop in his thoughts.

When the library door swung open, he shot up immediately, brushing down his school trousers and running a hand through his hair. Y/N stepped out, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder.

She looked better than she had in weeks, and Harry’s heart ached at the sight of her. He would have carried her bag for her if they were still together.

Her expression changed when she saw him, her voice barely above a whisper. “H-Harry.”

“I came,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I-I couldn’t believe it when I got your text. I’d have waited here for hours if you hadn’t shown up.”

Her face softened briefly, but she walked past him. “Follow me,” she said simply.

He trailed behind her as she led him to the gardens—the place where they’d shared their first kiss and filmed the music video for his and Dylan’s project. It was a space filled with memories of the three of them: Y/N doing homework, Dylan reading, and Harry strumming his guitar.

They sat down on the swinging bench, a familiar seat now heavy with unspoken tension. Harry noticed she kept her distance, and though every fiber of his being wanted to pull her close, he knew it wasn’t the right time.

“Who gave you those?” Harry finally asked, nodding at the flowers in her hand. A flicker of hope crossed his face.

“Debbie,” she said, referring to the school librarian. “It’s my last day working at the library.”

“You quit?” Harry frowned, his gaze flicking from the flowers to her face.

Y/N inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’m leaving, Harry.”

The wind seemed to leave him. “N-No,” he stammered, shaking his head. “You—you can’t. You can’t just leave. I won’t let you—”

“Harry,” she interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently in her lap. “It’s what’s best.”

“How can you say that?” he asked, trying to pull his hand away, though her warmth made it impossible. “How can you say it’s what’s best? The three of us—we’re supposed to be together.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at him. He looked thinner, more tired than she’d ever seen him, but she couldn’t help him—not anymore.

“Y/N, the thing with Dylan...” Harry began, his voice cracking. “I-I never meant for it to happen. We were just alone, I was stressed, and my emotions got the better of me. But I don’t feel the same way about him as I do about you.”

She shook her head softly. “Maybe that’s true, but not in the way you think. Dylan has always been there for you, Harry, in ways I never could. The way you look at him... it’s like he hung the stars in the sky just for you, like he tilted the sun so it would never blind you but still brighten your world.

“Maybe you do love me,” she continued, her voice trembling, “but love isn’t just about taking care of someone. It’s not carrying my backpack because it’s too heavy or doing my homework when I’m too tired after netball. Love is about being vulnerable. It’s about being taken care of, about laughing and crying and feeling like your heart is burning, and nothing can put it out.

“Now tell me, Harry. Did you ever feel that way with me? Were you ever vulnerable with me?”

Harry’s heart cracked. He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

“Please, Y/N,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I can’t be without you.”

“You have Dylan,” she said, trying to be the bigger person even though it shattered her inside. “It was never going to be me, Harry. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for him?”

Harry looked down at the ground, his silence all the confirmation she needed.

Her heart broke all over again, but she forced herself to stay strong. “Why do you have to go?” he asked, tears streaming down his face.

“Because, Harry,” she said gently, “what good would it do for the three of us if I stayed? You need to find out who you are, and so do I. Before me, it was you and Dylan. Now, it will end that way - with you and Dylan.”

“And what about you?” he asked desperately. “What will you do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m grateful for what I’ve had. You and Dylan will always be a part of me. I hope one day we’ll forget this pain, and everything will be okay again.”

She reached out, brushing his hair back the way she used to. “I love you, Harry. I love you so much, I feel like I could burst.”

“I love you too,” he murmured. For the first time, he meant it in a way that felt true—not as a lover, but as a best friend.

“Be brave,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And tell him you love him.”

Harry nodded as the tears fell freely, clinging to her like a child who didn’t want to let go.

She was going to love him forever. She now knew he wouldn’t.

. . .

“She’s gone,” Dylan said softly from the doorway of Harry’s bedroom.

Harry sat at his desk, a pen still in his hand though it hovered, unmoving, above the page. “Was she alright?” he murmured.

“She was better than we probably thought,” Dylan admitted, realizing how much they’d underestimated Y/N’s strength. They’d always thought it was their job to protect her, but she’d always been stronger than the two of them combined.

“Right,” Harry muttered, his voice hollow.

Dylan moved to sit on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. “I was thinking we could have the leftover soup for dinner instead of going to the dining hall.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry replied—a rare admission from someone who was always hungry.

Dylan frowned. “How long are you going to wallow in this? Can’t you see we’re both trying to do the right thing for your benefit?”

Harry turned to him, anger flashing in his eyes. “And what exactly are you doing?”

“I’ve been keeping my distance,” Dylan snapped. “Acting like we’re strangers when we’re the complete opposite. Do you know how much it kills me to not be near you? To have to hide from myself?”

Harry stood abruptly. “And you think I’m not struggling? You think I haven’t been grappling with everything I feel?”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Dylan shouted, standing to meet Harry’s gaze. “You had someone who loved you for two whole years. You have everything, Harry—loving parents, the best grades, popularity. And you act like it’s all been taken from you because I kissed you!”

“Y/N is gone because of us!” Harry yelled back.

“No,” Dylan said fiercely, his voice rising. “She’s gone because of you! Because you’re too afraid to be honest about who you are! Because you care too much about what everyone else thinks. That’s why she’s gone!”

Their faces were inches apart, their anger radiating in the small space between them.

“How dare you? Can’t you see this is difficult for me to accept?” Harry shouted, his voice trembling with anger and frustration.

“What is?” Dylan snapped back, stepping closer. “What is so difficult, Harry? What’s so hard that you have to sit in the dark and ignore the only two people who’ve ever truly cared about you? Huh? What is it? Tell me. TELL ME.”

“I am in love with you!” Harry yelled, the words ripping out of him like they had been clawing to escape for years. “I am a fool, and I am in love with you.”

Dylan froze, stunned. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of Harry’s confession settled over him. The words he had dreamed of hearing for years hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore.

“What?” Dylan managed, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you,” Harry said, his voice softer now but no less raw. “And it’s been killing me every day since. I think of you—daily, nightly, every moment in between—and it tears me apart. Kissing you was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and denying it afterward made me a coward. But here I am now, standing in front of you, a man stupidly, hopelessly in love with his best friend.”

Harry’s eyes were red and glassy, the weight of years of unspoken emotion etched into his every feature.

Dylan stared at him, speechless. He had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was real, the depth of Harry’s vulnerability left him breathless.

“Kiss me,” Dylan whispered, his voice breaking. “Kiss me.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping Dylan’s face in his hands as though it had been crafted to fit perfectly in his palms. Then he kissed him—fervent and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that singular moment.

Dylan’s world ignited. A piece of him that had been dormant for years finally came alive. His heart and mind, long at odds, now burned in harmony as Harry’s lips moved against his. He felt consumed, but in the most beautiful way, as if he could lose himself in Harry forever and never once regret it.

“I love you too, Harry,” Dylan whispered when they finally parted, their foreheads resting together.

“I bloody well hope so,” Harry murmured, a small laugh escaping his lips as tears spilled down his cheeks.

. . .

Now

Dear Harry,

I’d like to tell you a story that will more than likely make you happy.

One day, I was sat in a café, only a twenty-minute walk away from Southend Park School, which is closed down now and turned into a factory to fix airplanes. I bought my usual order of a decaf cappuccino and a slice of toffee apple cake. On this particular day, they added more sugar to my cappuccino, so I knew it would be a good day.

Across from me, a woman sat, her dog lying down at her feet as she read The Catcher in the Rye whilst sipping on a fruit tea. I didn’t think much of it, but I found it interesting the way she would read something and then shakily jot something down in the little notebook on the table.

Anyway, I had originally come to the café so I could write about our trip to Brighton. You were still complaining about the sand in your clothes just last night despite the fact that Brighton has no sand.

“It’s alright, love,” I comforted you, helping you put your pyjamas on.

“It bothers me, Dylan.” You responded, coughing into your handkerchief.

We don’t leave our small bungalow very often because you don’t like to leave the dogs and I don’t like change, but this trip to Brighton was one we had been planning for a year or so, so we didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

We spent a lot of time sat on the beach in the evenings whilst we were there, a blanket wrapped around the both of us as we fed the seagulls. I remember you saying you liked the sound of the ocean because it made you feel like we were seventeen again, running into the ocean without a care in the world.

You then proceeded to mention how worried you are about our Y/N, “I hope she’s doing alright, our Y/N.” You said and then went back to talking about a programme you watched the night before.

You had always worried about Y/N in the years after she left, always asking where she was or what she was up to despite the fact we never got in contact with her again. I also wonder whether or not she is okay, and I knew that if I were to see her again, I would thank her for allowing us the space to fall in love.

It was awfully difficult those months after we kissed in your bedroom. We were constantly berated by people we had never spoken to before, and I knew it bothered you for a while, but we overcame it just like we did every other obstacle in our lives... together.

Anyway, as I continued to write about our trip, the door to the café opened again and three middle-aged people walked over to the elderly lady in the corner. “Come on Mum, we’ve got to say goodbye to Dad now,” the man spoke to her, and she swatted him away. Something about that small action gave me a strong sense of déjà vu.

“Give me a moment,” the woman responded, and the three children sat at the table in the chairs around her.

Eventually, they managed to get her standing up. One of them placed her coat around her shoulders, and another handed her her walking stick. When she turned to look at me, I saw a familiar set of eyes looking straight at me.

The three people aiding her walked to the door and held it open for her. As she was about to step out the door, her walking stick fell out of her shaky hands and right at my feet. I quickly picked it up and handed it to her, her face brightening at the sight of me.

“Thank you.” Her voice still sounded the same all that time ago.

“No... Thank you, my darling.”

#harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #one direction

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helenofsparta2 · 19 days ago

Text

Percy did nothing wrong in Battle of the Labyrinth

Buckle up, this is going to be a very, very long post.

I’ve already made two posts about Percy getting blamed for things he had little to no control over, or some criticism just being extremely unfair towards him, but I’ve never really talked about battle of the labyrinth.

Especially on sides like tiktok, people really drag Percy for how he acted in this book, and I have never really understood why, so since Percy is my favourite RR character, I’ve finally decided to make a post trying to untangle this whole mess.

Generally I’ve seen three main criticisms against him in this book. If you know of others, please let me know.

Him & Calypso

His relationship with Annabeth

The situation with Rachel

Calypso

The criticism I’ve seen here is mostly based on these three topics:

He didn’t immediately go back to Camp Half-blood

He forgot about Annabeth and his friends while spending time being happy with Calypso

He hesitated when Hephaestus told him he could go back & called Calypso his biggest what if

Let’s tackle these one by one.

He didn’t immediately go back to Camp Half-blood after waking up

Well, he … couldn’t.

Shortly before arriving on Ogygia, Percy had gotten burned alive with lava. A feeling he described as a pain “worse than anything he’d ever felt” (194) . And He’d blown up a volcano, an action so powerful, the mortal authorities were forced to evacuate almost half a million people, which made ash fall as far as Lake Tahoe in Vancouver and closed off the Mount st. Helens area within a hundred-mile radius.

Just a quick reminder of Percy’s physical state after all of that:

“I was really weak. I couldn’t stay on my feet more than a few hours. Whatever I’d done in Mount St. Helens had drained me like nothing else I’d ever experienced.” (203)

I woke up feeling like I was still on fire. My skin stung. My throat felt as dry as sand. (196)

I tried to sit up. My muscles felt like they were melting. (196)

I looked as if I’d lost ten kilos I couldn’t afford to lose.” (198)

My knees buckled, and I would’ve landed face-first in the grovel if Calypso hadn’t caught me. (200)

Maybe I was just really weak and thin (200)

Even after a few days/ weeks his legs were still stiff, and he was still getting dizzy from standing up for too long (203)

I hadn’t been in control of myself in that mountain. I’d released so much energy I’d almost vaporized myself, drained all the life out of me.

So, he was not able to physically leave, despite very much wanting to.

2. He forgot about Annabeth and his friends, while enjoying his time with Calypso

Also pretty easy to defend, because, again, he didn’t.

He never stopped thinking about Annabeth, and his other friends. Not once.

Even before waking up, Percy said their names in his sleep so often that Calypso knew them when he woke up (p. 199)

His first reaction to Calypso telling him that he could heal in safety was:

“But my friends-“

“Annabeth”, she said. “And Grover and Tyson.”

“Yes!” I said. “I have to get back to them. They’re in danger.” (199)

He tried to use his empathy link with Grover several times on Ogygia to find out if he, Tyson and Annabeth were okay, but couldn’t make any contact (P. 203)

“I thought about Annabeth, Grover and Tyson constantly.” (P. 204)

The first thing he does after Hephaestus arrives on Ogygia is asking him about Annabeth’s well-being (207)

3. He hesitated when Hephaestut told him he could go back

This is the first time, the sentiment is somehow connected to the text, because Percy did hesitate for a little bit:

“I wanted to say yes. Of course I would. But the words were stuck in my throat. I found myself looking out at the lake, and suddenly the idea of leaving seemed very hard. (209)

Afterwards, he walked along the beach for several hours, thinking of what to do next (210)

But if you actually read the chapter, you very easily understand that Percy never really, seriously considered staying:

When Hephaestus insinuated, he might not return to camp half-blood he immediately said: “What do you mean? Of course I’m coming back.”

The first thing he says, after Calypso offered him to stay forever on Ogygia was: “But… my friends.” (211)

His immediate verbal response after Calypso admitted she was in love with him was to say: “I can’t. I would never do anything to hurt you, but my friends need me. I know how to help them now. I have to get back.” (212)

We also need to consider his reasons for hesitating in the first place. He did not hesitate because he was in love with Calypso. Yes, he thought she was cute when she laughed, thought she was more beautiful than Aphrodite, and didn’t want to make her feel sad, but she is not the reason he hesitated. His biggest what if is not Calypso herself. His biggest what if is what she represents: Peace, Happiness, and a way to avoid the responsibility of the prophecy.

Through Stolen Chariot, we know that Percy’s biggest fear is making the wrong decision and dooming everyone he cares about:

“I stood paralyzed. This was the moment I had always dreaded: the prophecy that was supposed to come about when I was sixteen. I would make a choice that would either save or destroy Olympus. Now the moment was here, and I had no idea what to do. The camp was burning. My friends looked at me, begging for help. My heart pounded. I couldn’t move. What if I did the wrong thing? (The Stolen Chariot)

The first thing Calypso says to convince him to stay is: “You could leave the fight to others, Percy Jackson. You could escape your prophecy.”(211)

He also considered the possibility that it might be best for his friends if they believed him to be dead:

“Now I found out I’d nearly destroyed the Northwest US and almost woken the most horrible monster ever imprisoned by the gods. Maybe I was too dangerous. Maybe it was safer for my friends to think I was dead. (208)” She was cute when she laughed.

And even if he did develop a little crush on her, which I don’t even believe, I just think he really liked her and felt bad for her, how would that be his fault or something we could blame him for???? Since when can people control who they have or don’t have a crush on???

And the most important thing is: he left. As soon as he knew how to, as soon as he was healthy enough, he left. He went back to his friends, missing out on a peaceful and probably very happy life, shouldered the prophecy once again, and left.

His relationship with Annabeth

I can not say enough how much Percy actually supported Annabeth during the course of battle of the labyrinth

He reassured her constantly, that she would do a good job in leading this quest, when she doubted herself: (“You’re doing great. Besides, we never know what we’re doing. It always works out. Remember Circe’s Island?” She snorted. (P. 120))

He hugged her when she needed a hug: Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. (Chapter 4, P. 76)

He trusted her; despite knowing she didn’t tell him the entirety of her prophecy

There are only three points in which they have some kind of conflict in. One of them is the whole thing with Calypso, but I’ve already dealt with that. The other two are the scene after Kronos overtook Luke’s body and then the whole situation with Rachel.

The scene after Kronos overtook Luke’s body

One of the main criticisms people have of Percy here is that he didn’t comfort Annabeth immediately after that scene. While that criticism is somewhat true, it's important to note that he didn’t act out of any malicious intent. After Annabeth collapsed, sobbing with her head between her knees, he didn’t rush to her side—but this was not because he meant to hurt her.

Percy himself was shocked and traumatized by the experience

After she asked him what happened, Percy was as gentle as he could be when he told her: “He gave himself over to Kronos,” I said. “I’m sorry Annabeth, but Luke is gone.” (291)

He only snaps at her, when she continues to defend Luke and accuses Percy of wanting him to be evil: “You want him to be evil, is that it?” Annabeth yelled. “You didn’t know him before, Percy. I did!” “What is it with you?” I snapped. “Why do you keep defending him?” (292)

If we’re being honest, there is nothing Percy could have said to her, which would have helped her, and with the history he has with Luke, I personally can’t blame him for not being able to comfort her about his death or being annoyed that she still defends him after everything

As a reminder, at this point in time, Luke had tried to kill Percy multiple times, told him that he should have died in Tartarus, tortured Annabeth and was completely okay with killing every single kid in camp half-blood

He still wanted to comfort her after that, but he simply didn’t know how to: I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know how. I still felt stunned, like Kronos’s time-slowing effect had affected my brain. I just couldn’t comprehend what I’d seen. Kronos was alive. He was armed. And the end of the world was probably close at hand. (292)

Avoiding an argument might have actually been the smartest thing he could have done after that

When it was time to continue on their way, he still treated Annabeth gently “I knelt next to Annabeth. “Hey, I’m sorry. We need to move.” (292)

Did Annabeth need someone to talk to? Yes, obviously. Was Percy snapping back at her unnecessary and the last thing she needed in the moment? Also yes. This girl has suffered an unimaginable lot in this book and all the previous ones, especially because of Luke. I’m not blaming her here for the way she acted. She loved Luke, and this might be one of the worst fates imaginable for a loved one. Everyone would have cracked in one way or another.

But is it also insane to criticize a 14-year-old boy, because he did not properly comfort his friend, who grieved the death of a guy, who tried to kill that 14-year old boy for the last two years? Also, yes.

They were two traumatized teenagers with the weight of the world on their shoulders, in a very shitty situation, and I think blaming either of them for how they reacted in this moment is entirely unfair.

Overtaking her quest, by asking Rachel for help

So, I hope we all realize, that this is a stupid argument, and I don’t need to elaborate on why, right? Like, they needed Rachel’s help. Obviously, it’s shitty for Annabeth that she had to rely on a mortal girl, especially a girl with a crush on Percy, but that doesn’t change the fact that they didn’t have another choice. Rachel was vital for the success of their quest,

Percy also sometimes told Annabeth to lay off Rachel, but, like, Annabeth was acting mean towards her, and Percy is a nice person, who knows that Rachel didn’t deserve this treatment.

I think these are all of the criticisms I have seen, and as a really huge fan of Percy, I’m getting so tired of seeing all of them. Please inform me if I have overlooked any!!!

#Let's all remember that Percy was also a kid for the entire duration of the books challenge #Please reread the books before trying to criticize a character's action #Sometimes I don't think I'm made for fandom culture #My own fault for having this hyper fixation #percy jackson #rick riordan #pjo #battle of the labyrinth #annabeth chase #calypso pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians

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peachhcs · 6 days ago

Note

we need more macklin fics and fluff bc that one was actually so cute. i need more asap 🩷

sorority formal

still debating if i should make a macklin au to add to my samy + will verse (HAHA my own fanfic verse??) but here’s some more fluff between the lovely rookie and his gf from santa clara university :) — also cleaning out my inbox so that’s why i’ve posted four times in a row LOL

also if this is bad i’m so sorry. i lowkey awkwardly switch between 2nd person and 3rd person pov sometimes so apologies for that. otherwise, i’m really starting to like writing about mack 😌 (slight allusion to sex but there’s no sex actually described just kissing)

masterlist

macklin had never been to a college sorority formal before, nor did he really understand what it was or what to expect, but he agreed to be your date nonetheless. plus, the look on your face was hard to say no to when you asked him two weeks ago.

the brunette was in his room trying to find the right suit to wear while will sat in the corner on his phone. he knew a little bit from when he was at boston, but he never found any interest in going to those frat and sorority parties, so the rookie was a bit in the dark when it came to this stuff.

will wasn’t much help either.

“i dunno man. i’ve never been to a sorority formal before. i assume it’s the same as any other formal? i’ve been to samy’s soccer banquet,” will shrugged, watching his friend try on his third suit.

“y/n said to just wear something neutral. her dress is pink i think,” macklin explained as he examined the dark navy suit in the mirror.

“i think that looks fine. navy and pink go well?” will nodded.

“i’m kind of nervous. is that bad? i don’t really know what to expect,” obviously, he didn’t want to make y/n look like a fool at her own sorority, so the boy’s nerves were at an all time high at the moment. what if he did something stupid?

“samy texted me back and she said it’s like prom but for college. there will be food and drinks and then you dance if you want. some sororities will do speeches or superlatives,” will read off the text his girlfriend just sent him.

“oh, okay. that’s not too bad then. i’ll be fine,” macklin assured himself and decided on the navy blue suit.

“yeah, it will be chill. you basically get to spend a whole night with your girlfriend,” will grinned and the brunette couldn’t help but smile at the thought. he hadn’t seen you in a few days because of your crazy busy schedules, so having this night to yourselves would be nice.

“yeah, you’re right. it will be chill and we’ll have fun,”macklin was basically saying positive affirmations to himself at this point which made will chuckle. he stood up to help his friend with his suit.

“don’t even sweat it, dude. she’s gonna love you,” the blonde assured and if will thought so, then macklin was gonna believe it.

once he was finished getting dressed, he grabbed his phone to let you know he was on his way over to your dorm. the boy rushed through the house, double checking his pockets that he had phone (check), keys (check), wallet (check), and a small bouquet he decided picking up for you because he knew you liked flowers.

“knock ‘em dead!” will called from the porch as macklin got into his car.

the brunette drove the short drive to the university. being new to driving in the states still and the nerves about tonight made his hands a bit shaky as he turned onto the drive that led to your dorm. he didn’t need to sweat this. it was you. y/n. his girlfriend. there was no reason for him to be nervous about some sorority formal.

he parked in the lot and climbed out, doing a third check that he had all of his belongings. you were waiting in the lobby for him after getting his text about being on his way. the hockey player stopped in his tracks though when he laid eyes on you.

your strapless, silky dress stopped around your ankles where he could see your pretty white heels. your hair was down like it usual was and macklin was pretty sure his pupils turned to hearts.

“hi,” you grinned when he got closer.

“hi..wow..you look..” the boy lost his words making you laugh.

“you look pretty..wow,” you complimented his navy suit.

“s-so do you. wow..i..i’m in awe,” he admitted earning a bright blush on your cheeks.

“you’re sweet. are these for me?” you noticed the bouquet wobbling in his hands. the brunette quickly flushed and handed them over to you.

“yes, sorry. they are.”

you admired the pretty pink and red petals, “thank you. these are pretty. wanna come up for a second so i can put them in water?” it wasn’t really a question because macklin was going to follow you regardless.

the two of you stepped into the elevator. mack’s nerves were now because of how beautiful you looked beside him and he didn’t know how to express it other than telling you and the building desire to kiss you. he followed you down to your dorm. your roommate grinned at him.

“hey mack,” maya waved.

“hey maya,” he waved back.

“look, he brought me flowers,” you showed maya the pretty bouquet.

“wow, brownie points for the hockey player,” she teased a bit which made him flush. he watched you find a vase and fill it with water from your bathroom. you came back out and placed the flowers into the vase.

“like them?” you asked for his opinion.

“i like them,” he nodded.

“i’ll put them by my desk for now. thank you, again,” you pecked his cheek.

“of course,” the boy was glad you liked them and he was glad he decided on getting them the other day because the smile on your face was so worth it after spending an hour at the store trying to pick them out.

“okay, we’re gonna head out now. we’ll be back later,” you called to maya who threw up a thumbs up.

“have fun! don’t get too drunk.”

you went back down the elevator and then out of the building where you latched your arm with mack’s. he rubbed your hand and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“it’s not far from here,” you explained as you led the way.

“i’ve never been to one of these before,” the boy admitted a bit nervously.

“don’t worry, it’s so chill. you’ll get to meet some of my sorority sisters, we’ll eat, dance, drink some, and then we can leave whenever,” you explained and it eased some of mack’s nerves a bit more hearing you explain it. as much as he appreciated samy’s brief explanation, he also liked hearing it come from your lips too.

the two of you came up on one of the college bars in the area. it was already blasting music that could be heard from outside. macklin followed you inside where you were immediately greeted with security to check your ids. you both got little x’s on your hands meaning neither of you were 21. mack’s gaze flicked around the space that was dimly lit and pumping base through his bones.

“omg, y/n, hey!” a girl greeted you.

“hi jen, you look gorgeous!” you admired your friend’s dress.

“no you do! is this your boyfriend?” she turned her attention to mack.

“yes, this is macklin,” you gripped his arm again and the boy managed a tiny smile.

“nice to meet you. i’m jen, the sorority president. come on in. we have food in the back and drinks at the bar so get whatever,” jen explained.

you quickly led macklin to the back because you were starving. the boy watched you take a plate so he copied whatever you did. you laughed at his behavior.

“don’t be so nervous, mack.”

“sorry. just getting used to it all,” he said. he’d never been into a bar before because he wasn’t old enough first of all and if he was caught underage drinking he’d definitely get a mean punishment from his coach.

“it’s okay. it’s overwhelming, but i’m right here remember,” you assured and some of the worries eased hearing you say that. macklin offered a grateful smile as he followed your lead with the food and then followed you to a seat.

you sat with some other girls and their dates which got all of you quickly talking. the more you talked, the more comfortable macklin became and flushed when a few people recognized him as a hockey player. being next to you made him feel a lot more comfortable too. seeing you look so calm and content helped him do the same and by the time you were done eating, he was having a full conversation with some of the guys without you involved.

“let’s get pictures!” one girl exclaimed when she came around with her camera.

you pulled mack up. he eagerly wrapped his arm around your waist, the two of you smiling wide as the flash went off—almost blinding you guys because it was so bright and the room was so dark.

“aw, you guys look adorable,” the girl spun the camera around so you could see the preview. macklin quickly kissed your cheek.

“i love it, thanks,” you said.

you guys ventured back towards the center of the dance floor to start dancing along with the others. macklin was big on getting to dance, so he took full advantage, urging you to join his energy. you giggled at the way he bounced on his feet and pulled out his best dance moves for you.

when everyone started coming onto the floor, it got warm fast so the brunette lost his suit jacket leaving him in just his dress shirt that was almost halfway unbuttoned by now. his arms were around your waist, the two of you swaying to the beat and being in your own world together.

any anxiety the rookie felt earlier had completely disappeared being in the center of the dance floor with you. all that mattered to him was you in his arms as he spun you around.

“did i tell you how gorgeous you look?” the boy leaned in closer as he spoke over the music.

“you did, yes,” you grinned.

“well i’ll tell you again. you look gorgeous. prettiest girl here,” his words earned a bright blush on your cheeks.

“you’re too sweet, mack.”

“i’m serious, y/n/n. you’re beautiful,” he leaned in closer, still wanting that kiss he hadn’t gotten yet. you saw his request and closed the gap.

the two of you shared a sweet kiss, not caring that there were others around you or watching. your lips felt like heaven against the hockey player’s. he never wanted to let you go, but forced himself to to get some air back into his lungs.

“i could kiss you forever,” he mumbled.

“me too,” and you reconnected your lips for another quick kiss. mack’s hands wandered a bit lower towards your hips and then swiping over your ass. a giggle left your lips at his behavior.

“we should save this for the dorm,” you smiled while directing him away for now. a little pout appeared, but he understood and let you go.

the music picked up again and it had him spinning you around once more. because all of his focus was on hockey growing up, the brunette’s never had an experience of going to an end of the year dance or prom or anything, so he was glad he was getting to make this up with you right now.

as the night winded down, you and macklin decided to leave. he threw his suit jacket over your shoulders for the quick five minute walk back to your dorm. you appreciated his gesture, tugging it closer to your body to hide yourself from the semi-cold evening temperatures.

“thanks for coming tonight,” you smiled as you rode the elevator.

“of course. i had a lot of fun. thanks for bringing me,” mack returned your smile.

“i’m glad you did. better get ready for next semester,” you teased a bit and mack’s heart swelled just a little bit at the idea of coming back to your formal because that meant you wanted him enough to stick around for the next one.

he knew what you two had meant a lot to both of you, but sometimes he got in his head just a little bit wondering if he was good enough for you or not enough because he was some big shot hockey player and he knew what everyone thought about hockey players. he worried he wasn’t the one for you even though you were 100% the one for him. he knew it from the day he met you, so hearing you say that made him burst with joy.

maya wasn’t in the dorm, probably taking the hint that you guys wanted the room to yourselves. macklin was glad because he wanted to continue that kissing you guys were doing earlier.

he watched you hang up his suit jacket like you did every time he brought his suits with him and kick your shoes off. he followed suit and then didn’t waste another second bringing your lips to his again.

that urge he’s had all night only got stronger the more he kissed you. you reciprocated all of his actions and unspoken wants, pulling your hand through his pretty brunette locks and running your hand down his chest.

“i love you,” the boy mumbled between kisses.

“i love you,” you breathed.

he found your gaze for a second, wondering if this was right. wondering if you were sure about him. his thoughts were answered though when you grabbed ahold of his face to kiss him again and lead him to your bed.

needless to say, all of his anxieties were eased by the end of the night and the love he had for you had never been bigger.

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moonlightspencie · 9 months ago

Text

Meet-Cute

Description: It's all in the title, isn't it?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Warnings: none :)

Word Count: 1k

On a Saturday morning after a night of drinking, the last thing you personally cared for was to be awoken by the loudest noise on earth. Some terrible creaking sound, mixed with thuds that seemed to resound in your apartment every thirty seconds had you practically developing a stress-induced twitch as you laid in bed.

To put it nicely: you were at the end of your rope.

You begrudgingly got out of bed, roughly washed your face, angrily brushed your teeth, and stomped to your door. You may not usually be prone to dramatics, but you felt it necessary for your well-being this time. You opened your door, about to confront your terribly noisy neighbor, when you realized that it was someone moving in.

You wanted to be angry. You really did. But…

“Hello,” said a man who you could only describe as genuinely tall, dark, and handsome. He also looked a little surprised.

You wiped the scowl off your face. “Hi.”

He looked around, as if the answer for you standing in your doorway in pajamas, looking quite annoyed, would appear out of thin air. It didn’t. You realized as much about thirty seconds later as you finally started speaking.

“Sorry. Are you moving in?”

"Oh! Yeah," he breathed out a small laugh. God he was handsome. "I apologize for the noise.”

You shake your head. “No! No, that’s okay. Just… curious.”

He smiled a little and you tried not to melt on the spot. He reached his hand out in greeting.

“I’m Aaron.”

You shook his hand, trying not to stare at him as you gave him your name.

“Nice to meet you,” you said softly.

“You, too. Uh… I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, nodding at the box under his arm.

“Of course!” you nod quickly. “Right. Um… I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

You went back to your apartment, shutting the door behind you with a little grin. So much for staying determined to be grumpy and less than pleasant today.

It was, unfortunately, two weeks later before you saw him again. This time as you were checking your mailbox in the lobby. As you heard someone clear their throat, you muttered a small apology, stepping out of the way as you looked through the letters in your hand.

“Um… hi,” he offered as a greeting that made you jump a little bit. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... Just wanted to say hello."

You looked up at the voice that was irritatingly smooth, finding yourself getting a bit warm in the cheeks when you noticed him giving you almost a shy smile. You turned towards him more to give him your full attention.

"Oh, gosh. Uh, sorry," you chuckled softly, returning his smile. "Guess I'm not very good at being neighborly, am I?"

"You're doing just fine. I'm sure it might be a little... maybe off-putting to have a strange man approach you in the lobby, now that I think of it."

You shook your head. “It’s not that at all. I’m just… not used to people approaching me here at all.”

“Not exactly social?”

“More like nobody else here is. I don’t mind a little company,” you replied, a little more flirty than you were intending.

Clearly he didn’t mind.

“Good to know,” he nodded once with a growing smirk.

“Uh…” you clammed up a tiny bit. “So… Um, are you, like, new around here?”

“Only to this building. I’ve been in D.C. for too many years to count,” his smirk melted into a softer smile. “Just needed someplace new, I guess. My old apartment… I just needed a change of scenery.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’ve been there,” you nodded softly. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s great. My son loves it here.”

Your brows raised a little. “You have a son?”

“I’m shocked you didn’t file a complaint last night with the tantrum he threw,” he chuckled a tiny bit.

“I was out last night, so no worries here.”

“Oh? With friends, or…?”

You couldn’t help but smile a little more. “Yeah. Just a couple of girlfriends.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Maybe too much fun.”

“You get up to a lot with them?” he asked casually, though not without humor, crossing his arms over his chest.

You smiled. “Only on occasion. I don’t think I could really handle the way they go out practically every single night. I only agree to go out like that with them once a month.”

“Now you’re sounding a little too much like me for someone so young and pretty.”

You find your cheeks warm at that, though you try not to react outwardly. You could tell that he knew just how much he had affected you, though. If you didn’t know any better, you might guess he was a mindreader.

“I think you make yourself out to be too boring for someone so friendly and handsome.”

He laughed a little at that. Then a comfortable silence falls over the both of you for a moment. Maybe two moments. Eventually, you shift your weight, and look back up at him again. He really is horribly handsome. A guy shouldn’t be able to look like that, and… God, he smelled good, too. You shuffled the mail in your hands a little bit before speaking again.

“Uh… Well, it was nice chatting with you, but unfortunately I do have to go clean my apartment. Family is coming over tomorrow,” you said softly. “I’ll see you around, though, yeah?”

“Yes, that sounds… sounds good. Maybe if you end up wanting some of that company you were talking about, we could get dinner some time?”

You couldn’t help a giddy smile sneaking onto your face. You nodded easily, glancing at his hand as he shut your mailbox for you near your head.

“I could come knock on your door some time soon and invite you properly, if you’d be alright with that,” he said, that little smirk sneaking back onto his face.

“I’d like that.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fic #gender neutral reader #luna's hotch fics

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lucentloo · 28 days ago

Text

First Kiss

Summary: You’ve never truly thought the perfect first kissed existed after a drunken one night stand had stolen every innocence you have ever had, but Remus is here to prove what a first kiss should really be like.

Remus Lupin x Fem!reader

Wc: 1143

Content Warnings: Modern au, fem!reader, swearing, drunk sex (in the past, only mentioned not described fully), kissing, pinning, friends to lovers, Sirius and James are supportive, Lily as best friend, Peter here but not here, low standards, if I’ve missed any please let me know!

a/n: Hello lovely’s! This is Fic number three now and I can’t say my writings getting better but the more you interact the more confidence I get! I’m sorry it’s been a long time since my last Fic but life’s been hectic and I’m a slow writer so that’s on me. Either way I hope you enjoy this little Remus story today and have a wonderful weekend/week! Also not proof read so sorry for any mistakes!

When you were little you would imagine your first kiss as magical and romantic, something you would remember forever. Instead your innocence was tainted by a drunken night full of affectionless touches and meaningless words. Little you thought a prince would sweep you off your feet and steal the air from your lungs. And although the air was taken from you that night, it wasn’t quite as enjoyable as you thought.

After that one night you stopped expecting the love you read in your books or the touches you saw in the movies. Every relationship you indulged in only reinforced the obnoxiously low standards you had set for yourself. Your friends, more specifically Lily, encouraged you to find better men, to set a better standard, but you refused. You didn’t think you could find any better than you already have.

That was until you met Remus.

Him and his friends had opened a music store right next to your bookstore, and that helped boost both of your stores' activity. The boys invited you out to coffee to kinda get to know each other a bit more and you were immediately besotted with Remus. His calm nature, chocolate eyes, and even the scar on his upper lip that he got from a guy named Sniffilous, though you don't believe that that was his actual name. Remus was effortlessly kind and brilliant and knew when a joke had gone too far. He was unlike any guy you’ve met.

You started hanging out with him more often than the rest of your friends and got extremely close. Close enough that people have begun to speculate that there was something more brewing between us. You desperately want there to be. Every time his hand grazes yours and when he whispers a joke in your ears so that only you can hear, you feel special. Like you’re worth something more than a quick fuck.

One Saturday when you were hanging out with Remus at your bookstore you asked him what his most embarrassing story was, just out of curiosity.

Remus was fiddling with a pen when he answered. “I believe my most embarrassing story was when I believed a story my mother once told me all the way until I was fourteen.” He says quietly, not trying to break the comfortable silence around us.

You lean forwards on your elbows that were situated on your desk. You were previously rifling through documents and files trying to find the book you were missing. “What was the story?” You ask, genuinely intrigued.

Remus hummed and rose to stand next to me and sit on my desk. “My mother once believed that there was a magical world, full of wizards and witches, and they had a whole society. She made me believe that one day I would get accepted into a school for the young witches and wizards and that I would learn every spell in the book. I only stopped believing that when I thought a teacher was a disguised troll and I got sent home. I still cringe thinking about those ten years of my life.” When Remus finishes with the story he scrunches his perfectly adorable nose so cutely that you give a little giggle.

“Now you.” Remus gestures to me with his head.

“Me?” You ask confused.

“Yeah, you,” He says again, “what’s your most embarrassing story?” He asks it in such an innocently mischievous way that you can’t help but chuckle and think about it.

“I think my most embarrassing story would be my first kiss.” You blush as you answer, immediately regretting even mentioning it. However, you see the curiosity in his eyes and continue. “I was drunk and some guy who I was talking to that night brought me back to his apartment. I don’t think I have to say much more than that.” You are hard core blushing now and look back at your files.

Remus however is looking your way with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. He hops off the desk and stands in front of you. “You're telling me that your first kiss was a drunken one night stand? That’s it?” He asks. You nod hesitantly, wondering why he looks so distraught.

“Oh baby,” He said softly and you felt your heart pick up its pace, his proximity suddenly making your knees weak. “That does not count as a first kiss.”

You look up into his eyes that now burn with a small desire and start protesting. “But a first kiss is when you have your kiss for the first time, and I did. That counts as my first kiss-” Your cut off by soft lips gently pushing against yours. Your eyes widen in shock before a steady hand cups your cheek and you melt into the kiss. It wasn’t a quick in and out but it also wasn’t a long, heavy makeout sesh. Just a soft kiss on the lips and Remus was pulling away.

“That is a first kiss. It’s loving and soft and it was one you were fully aware of.” Remus cups the back of your neck and pulls it forwards to rest our foreheads together. “Your first kiss isn;t your first kiss until you say it is.” Remus speaks so softly you almost couldn’t hear him.

You smile slightly and lean in close again, your lips making contact with his once more. This time it goes on a little longer to the point where you grip his shoulders begging for more, noises escape your lips without your permission, and when you’re finally finished you pull away gasping for air.

Remus has a beautiful smile on his face as he looks at you. He bends his head down enough to whisper in your ear. “I really like kissing you.” You giggle and bury your face into his chest. In the distance you hear cheers and clapping and as you lift your face you see two of Remus’ close friends, James and Sirius, appearing from behind the bookcases. Your cheeks burn a deep red as you hide your face into Remus’ chest once again.

“How long have you two been here?” Remus asks with a small sigh.

Sirius laughs and pats him on the back. “Just long enough to see the show Moons, and quite the show it was!” He teases. James elbows him in the ribs but his smile is a carbon copy of Sirius’.

As the boys divulge into endless bickering and attempt to embarrass your poor Remus even more, you bury yourself fully into his arms. You wonder what this will mean for the future. For your relationship, and although in any other scenario you would have been nervous all you can feel is excitement.

You thought that this would be a very good first kiss to remember.

#remus lupin x reader #reader x remus lupin #x reader #reader x character #first kiss #love #friends to lovers #fanfic #marauders #modern au #cute

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

Text

Technicalities

Summary: Based on this request! After a complicated friends-with-benefits relationship with Spencer, you confess your true feelings to him in a moment of vulnerability, only for things to fall apart. Both of you struggle with your feelings, leading to silence and regret. When Spencer realizes he can't let you go, he tries to fix things, but is it too late?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x IT fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, fwb, alcohol consumption, being drunk, hangover mention, (un)requited feelings, kind of fake dating/keeping up appearances, both Spencer and reader are dumb, happy ending i promise !!, i imagined somewhere season 4–8 Spencer

Word count: 29.2k

a/n: i'm so glad someone put in this request because i mostly had this story figured out but they saveddd my ass with this prompt so thank you !!! and yes i have only been focusing on this one lmao getting back to my other stories now my

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (f) receiving, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), breast play

The BAU bullpen was humming with the usual mid-week activity. Spencer Reid sat at his desk, frustration evident as he jabbed the keyboard of his computer, which remained frozen. A flash of error codes danced across the screen, none of which made sense to him—a rare occurrence, and one that only served to heighten his irritation. He let out a sigh, raking a hand through his hair as the team around him exchanged knowing glances.

"Reid, you okay there?" Rossi’s voice came from a nearby desk, teasing and lighthearted as he looked up from his case files.

"No," Spencer huffed, shaking his head. "My computer’s completely unresponsive, and I have a report due in—" he checked his watch for the sixth time in as many minutes "—an hour."

"Kevin's supposed to be here soon," JJ assured him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "He’ll fix it, don't worry."

Just as she spoke, the doors to the bullpen swung open, revealing someone none of them had seen before. You walked in, holding a laptop under one arm, the ID badge around your neck swinging slightly as you headed toward them with confident strides. A few of the team members exchanged glances, a mix of curiosity and amusement flickering in their eyes.

Hotch cleared his throat, greeting you with a nod. "You're here for the computer issue?"

"Yeah, I’m the IT support on call while Penelope Garcia is away," you confirmed, offering a polite smile. "I heard there was a problem with Dr. Reid’s computer?" You looked around, trying to spot the agent who was in need of your help.

Reid, already on edge, looked up with surprise, blinking as if he hadn't quite processed that it wasn't Kevin Lynch who was standing in front of him. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, clearly unsure how to respond to this unexpected change.

"I, um… expected Kevin," he finally mumbled, his voice betraying his slight unease. "I’ve never seen you before."

"Yeah, I took over his position," you explained, not missing a beat. "Penelope has mentioned you a few times, Dr. Reid." You held back a grin as you said this; she had described the team members in amusingly vivid detail. "She told me you like to keep your computer files meticulously organized."

Reid flushed slightly at the mention of his organization habits, and Derek, leaning back in his chair, raised a brow. “You know, this should be good,” he murmured under his breath, loud enough for the others to hear. Emily, who had taken a break from her own work to watch the scene unfold, leaned against her desk with a sly grin, clearly enjoying every second of it.

Spencer, however, was less amused. “It just stopped working,” he said, gesturing to the screen with a frustrated wave of his hand. “The whole thing’s frozen, and I can’t even get the task manager to open.”

"Sounds like it could be an issue with the registry or a corrupted file," you said, more to yourself than to anyone else, as you moved closer to his desk. "Mind if I take a look?"

Reid hesitated but eventually moved his chair to the side, allowing you access to his computer. As you set your laptop down and began connecting it to his system, the team observed with bated breath. Derek shot JJ a look, one that said he was clearly enjoying watching Spencer’s mild discomfort.

Within seconds, you were typing furiously, navigating through various system files and directories, your eyes narrowing as you focused. Spencer’s eyes darted between the screen and your hands, trying to follow what you were doing, though he couldn’t quite keep up with your speed. You were faster than Kevin, more direct, and there was no room for small talk—just pure efficiency.

"There," you finally announced, pressing the enter key with a flourish. The screen blinked, flickered, and then—miraculously—sprang back to life, all files intact, and no trace of the error messages that had plagued it before.

Spencer blinked, stunned at how quickly you’d fixed it. He had been prepared for a long, awkward stretch of waiting, and yet you’d solved the problem almost effortlessly. He turned to you, feeling a touch of embarrassment creep up the back of his neck at his earlier impatience. “Wow… that was fast,” he admitted, his voice softer now, clearly humbled by your swift expertise.

“Glad I could help,” you said, your smile warm but professional as you started gathering your things. "It was just a couple of corrupted processes in the background. Shouldn't be an issue anymore, but if it acts up again, let me know."

Hotch nodded approvingly as you packed up, and Rossi gave a little chuckle. “Well, Reid, it looks like you're in good hands.”

Spencer, feeling that flush of gratitude and a bit of self-consciousness, turned back to you. "Thank you, really. I mean—I didn't mean to come off as... Well, thanks."

You nodded, the sincerity of his words clear despite his awkwardness. “No problem, Dr. Reid. I’m always around if you need anything fixed.” You threw a quick wave to the rest of the team before heading out, leaving Spencer sitting there, staring at his now fully functional computer, wondering how you’d made it all look so easy.

Once you were gone, Derek let out a low whistle. “Well, that was something.”

JJ smirked, turning to Spencer. “I’d say she handled you pretty well.”

Spencer huffed, his eyes narrowing playfully as he resumed his work, “I don’t need to be handled.”

—

Over the next few days, it seemed like Spencer was having an unprecedented run of technical issues. And they all, without fail, required your assistance.

It started innocently enough—a “network connectivity problem” that turned out to be nothing more than a loose cable. You had come by quickly, knelt beside his desk to adjust the cord, and, while fixing it, noticed the way his eyes followed your every move. His face had remained composed, but the flush to his cheeks when you stood up and announced the issue had been hard to miss. The team had shared knowing glances behind his back, each one barely concealing their smirks.

Then, just two hours later, his computer's fan started "making an odd noise." Of course, Spencer had once again denied that it could be a false alarm, claiming there was something seriously wrong with it. And you, being the professional you were, had obliged, leaning down to listen to the fan’s soft whirring as your fingers brushed against the side of the machine. He tried to maintain his cool—really, he did—but it was becoming more and more obvious that the fan was just fine. When you turned around, you caught the way his gaze shifted slightly down before flicking back to your face, trying to play it off as if he’d been looking at his notes.

"Spencer," you teased lightly, as you finished the quick check and stood up, "I’m starting to think you're trying to set a record for the number of help tickets submitted in a single week."

His reaction was immediate. "What? No, no, I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly flustered but in a way that made your own stomach do a small flip. "I mean, I... really have been having a lot of issues lately." He tried to sound convincing, but his voice wavered just enough for you to know he didn’t even believe himself.

"Of course you have," you said with a playful smile, your voice just low enough that only he could hear the amusement in your tone. "Well, if anything else comes up... you know where to find me."

It didn’t stop there. Later that same day, when the team was preparing for a briefing, Spencer announced that the projector wasn't working. The rest of the team, sitting around the table, didn't even try to hide their grins this time. Hotch covered his mouth with his hand, pretending to cough. Derek leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and winked at Emily, who was openly chuckling now.

"Projector issues, huh?" you said as you walked in, the teasing lilt in your voice fully on display this time. You gave the machine a once-over, noticing that it was turned off—not broken. You pressed the power button, and, sure enough, the screen flickered to life immediately, the bright display shining against the conference room wall. "Looks like it just... needed to be turned on."

"Rookie mistake," Spencer said quickly, trying to sound like it was a simple oversight. But the way he shifted in his seat, his lips pressing into a thin line, made it clear he knew how obvious his ploy had become. "I... appreciate you coming all the way up here for that."

"Oh, anytime," you replied, flashing him a smile that he swore could melt glass. You took a moment to adjust a cord, bending slightly as you did, and while Spencer’s eyes followed your movement, you couldn’t miss the way his gaze trailed down, lingering for a split second before he caught himself. He quickly straightened in his chair, clearing his throat as he looked back to his teammates, who were all trying their best to act like they weren’t paying attention.

Once you were done with the projector, you turned back around and leaned against the table, arms folded across your chest, watching him with an amused twinkle in your eyes. You'd expected him to be bumbling and shy—most people warned you of Dr. Reid's reserved nature. But as you looked at him now, there was a new spark in his eyes, a confidence you didn't expect. It was as if he'd picked up on the fact that you didn’t mind his attention. In fact, you welcomed it.

The projector working perfectly now, he got up from his chair, and instead of sitting back down, he stepped closer to where you stood. “You know,” he said, lowering his voice so only you could hear, “I think I’ve run into more technical issues this week than I have all year.”

“Oh really?” you raised an eyebrow, enjoying this new, more self-assured side of him. “Well, if it happens again... you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, his voice just a touch deeper than usual, and his gaze fixed directly on yours. And the way he looked at you, intense yet amused, sent a shiver down your spine. There was nothing shy or bumbling about it—he knew what he was doing.

Just as you felt the tension build between the two of you, Derek’s voice cut through the air, loud and teasing. “Reid, man, I don’t know what’s going on with your computer, but I have a feeling you might need to get a whole new system. You know, one that doesn’t break every day.”

The rest of the team laughed, and you bit your lip, trying not to laugh too openly yourself as you gathered your things and prepared to leave. Spencer, on the other hand, only rolled his eyes, but his lips curved into a small, confident smile as he looked back at you.

“See you around, Dr. Reid,” you said, your voice carrying just enough playfulness to make sure the message was clear.

“Counting on it,” he replied smoothly, that glimmer of confidence shining in his eyes as you turned to leave, feeling his gaze on you the whole way out of the room. And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, his computer would stop working again very soon.

—

When Penelope returned from her vacation the following week, it felt like the bullpen lit up with vibrant color. Her laughter and colorful essense filled the space in a way that only she could manage. It was clear that the whole team was happy to have her back—JJ had hugged her so tightly Penelope squealed, Hotch had given her one of his rare, genuine smiles, even Rossi, always a gentleman, had brought her a coffee from her favorite café.

And Spencer, who adored his friend, had a huge smile on his face as she bounced over to his desk to give him a bear hug. However, as he sat back down, his smile faltered ever so slightly. Because, with Penelope back, it meant that all the “technical difficulties” he’d been experiencing for the past week would no longer require your assistance. And, truth be told, he was going to miss those visits—the way you’d walk in with that teasing smile of yours, lean over his desk to fix whatever nonexistent problem he’d concocted, and exchange playful banter that left him feeling... well, giddy.

“Pretty boy,” Derek’s voice called out from across the bullpen, dripping with humor and teasing, “what are you gonna do now? You know Miss Penny’s not going to come running every time you snap your fingers.”

Spencer’s eyes shot daggers at Derek, but that only made Morgan’s grin grow wider, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look. Spencer tried to school his expression into one of mild indifference, but the tips of his ears were already turning red. It was like a beacon—he might as well have hung up a sign that read “Caught.”

“Yeah, Reid,” Emily chimed in, her laughter ringing through the bullpen as she joined in on the teasing. “Is your computer going to start magically working again? Or should we expect another week of ‘emergency’ projector repairs and ‘technical malfunctions’?”

JJ chuckled, shaking her head as she flipped through case files. “Seriously, Spence, I think your computer had more issues last week than it has since I’ve known you. It's kind of impressive, really.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped just a little as he leaned over his desk, trying to focus on the file in front of him, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his feigned annoyance. “It’s not like I... meant for anything to happen,” he mumbled, a poor attempt at innocence that only made everyone laugh harder.

“Oh, sure, sure, Dr. Reid,” Derek said, his tone dripping with exaggerated belief. “I’m sure it was all just a big ol’ coincidence that your computer broke down every time she walked by.” He stood up and sauntered over to Spencer’s desk, leaning against the side as he grinned. “Admit it—you liked having her around. And don’t even try to deny it. We all saw you staring.”

Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but he found himself at a loss for words. He couldn’t exactly say that it wasn’t true—because, well, it was. He had liked having you around, more than he cared to admit, even to himself. But he also wasn’t quite ready to face the full brunt of Derek’s teasing, nor the knowing looks that Emily and JJ were exchanging. He settled for glaring at Morgan instead, trying to look as offended as possible, though it only ended up making him look mildly sheepish.

“What can I say?” Penelope chimed in, swirling over to join the conversation, hands on her hips as she gave Spencer a playful wag of her finger. “Apparently, Dr. Reid’s computer has abandonment issues that only manifest when I'm gone. Who knew?”

The team burst into laughter, and Spencer, resigned to the teasing, just shook his head. “Fine, laugh all you want,” he said, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress his grin. “I can handle my own computer problems from now on, okay?”

“Yeah, right,” Emily scoffed. “Sure you can.”

JJ, still chuckling, gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Well, if you do run into any more issues... I’m sure you know exactly who to call.”

Spencer nodded, the grin finally breaking free across his face, because they were right—he did know who to call. He couldn’t help but replay the last week in his mind, all those moments spent with you at his desk, your quick wit, and how easy it was to talk to you. He wasn’t quite ready to let that go just yet.

The thought sparked something bold inside him—something not unlike the confidence he’d felt when you were around. As the team’s laughter finally died down and they went back to their work, Spencer pulled up his email. He went into his contacts and found your name, saved from the last time you’d fixed his “broken” computer. And as he looked at it, that same spark of confidence urged him to do something he normally wouldn’t have done.

With a grin playing on his lips and a slight blush creeping up his neck, he sent you an email.

Hello–

Dr. Reid, here. Just wanted to let you know that my computer's working perfectly now... though I'd still love to see you again. Maybe for a drink this time, instead of a repair?

Hope to hear from you soon.

—Dr. Spencer Reid

And with that, Spencer leaned back in his chair, waiting for your reply with a flutter in his chest, a small smile tugging at his lips, and the whole team none the wiser.

—

Three days felt like an eternity to Spencer. He had replayed every interaction with you in his mind—every word, every smile, every touch as you fixed his "malfunctioning" devices. He was sure—almost sure—that you liked him. But now, as those days stretched on without any word from you, that confidence wavered, then crumbled.

It started out as just a bit of hopeful waiting—maybe you were busy. Maybe you hadn’t seen the message. Or maybe you were just figuring out the right way to respond. But by Wednesday, the optimism that had carried him through the week turned into something else entirely. Desperation. Every few minutes, he compulsively checked his phone, or his computer, swiping to refresh his email, pulling up his call logs, checking even his office mailbox just in case he’d missed something. Nothing. Always nothing.

The team had started to notice, the way his attention darted to his screens every few minutes, the little sighs of disappointment that followed when no message awaited him.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek’s voice broke through his distracted thoughts that Wednesday afternoon, his tone still light but tinged with concern. “What’s got you all twitchy? You’ve been staring at that phone like it owes you money.”

Spencer quickly dropped his phone, face burning as if he’d been caught in some embarrassing act. “It’s nothing,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just... waiting for a message.”

JJ, passing by, raised an eyebrow as she handed out case files. “Anyone important?” she asked softly, the concern evident in her voice as she leaned over his desk.

Spencer shook his head, shrugging off their questions. “No one important. It’s nothing, really.” But as soon as their attention drifted away from him, he found his eyes creeping back to his screen, a dull ache settling in his chest. Each time he saw no new message, that ache tightened just a little more, wrapping around his ribs like a cold hand squeezing the life out of him.

By Thursday, he had almost entirely given up hope. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at his work, the notes and case files a jumble of words that he couldn’t seem to make sense of. All he could think about was that email he’d sent, the one you hadn’t answered. He was sure he’d crossed some kind of line—maybe you hadn’t been interested in the first place, maybe he’d completely misread the signals. And God, wouldn’t that just be the most classic Spencer Reid thing? Missing the social cues, seeing things that weren’t there, building up a fantasy in his mind that didn’t actually exist.

A quiet voice whispered in his head, one that had lived there since he was a kid—the voice that said he wasn’t good enough, that he would never be good enough. That maybe he was destined to always fall for people who could never fall for him. Another woman who slipped away, another chance he’d fumbled.

Hotch’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, deep and steady. “Reid, are you alright?” he asked, his gaze steady and concerned.

Spencer looked up, startled to find the whole team watching him, worry etched across their faces. He quickly nodded, trying to pull himself together. “Yeah. I’m fine, just... tired.”

“Right,” Emily said, her voice skeptical as she exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them clearly sharing a silent conversation. But they let it go, turning back to their work, and leaving Spencer to his thoughts once more.

He slumped back in his chair, eyes fixed on the empty email screen before him. And that was when he let it sink in—that gnawing feeling of defeat, that familiar loneliness that had shadowed so much of his life. He closed his eyes, willing himself to forget you, to pretend like he didn’t care. But as much as he tried to shove those feelings down, the truth was undeniable: he had liked you. Really liked you. And now, it was just another reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Typical, he thought bitterly, fingers tapping against the desk as he stared blankly at the computer screen. I’m not good enough.

And so, as Thursday drew to a close, he resolved to let it go, to accept that whatever fleeting hope he’d had for something more was just that—a fleeting hope, nothing real.

If only he knew how wrong he was.

By the time Friday rolled around, the BAU team had had just about enough of Spencer's sullen mood. For days, he’d been dragging his feet around the office, sighing dramatically, and staring into space as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. He was distracted, more than usual, and his sharp wit had dulled under the cloud of whatever was plaguing him.

Finally, Derek had had enough. “Reid, man, you need to loosen up,” he declared that afternoon, tossing a ballpoint pen at Spencer, who caught it with a look of mild annoyance. “We’re going to O’Keefe’s tonight. You’re coming with us, and that’s not a suggestion.”

Spencer glanced around the room, seeing the supportive yet firm looks from the others—Emily, JJ, Rossi, and even Hotch, who gave a slight nod of approval. There was no way he was going to get out of it, and frankly, part of him didn’t want to. He had been hoping to spend his weekend taking you out for drinks, but since that clearly wasn’t happening, drinks with his team seemed like the next best thing.

“Alright, fine,” he said, agreeing quickly, much to the surprise of everyone around him. A chorus of cheers and supportive pats on the shoulder met his response, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of something other than that disappointment that had been lodged in his chest all week.

So that evening, they made their way to O’Keefe’s, a no-frills cop bar that had become something of a second home for the team. They settled into a large booth by one of the pool tables, ordering rounds of beers, mixed drinks, and, for Spencer, a hard Arnold Palmer. He sat across from JJ, who nursed her own drink and was trying to keep the conversation light and fun, though she couldn’t quite pull Spencer out of his funk.

“Come on, Spence,” she said, taking a sip of her drink and smiling warmly at him. “It’s Friday and Penelope’s back. Lighten up. You’ll be kicking everyone’s butt at pool soon enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer said, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine, JJ, really. Just... tired.” He played with the straw in his drink, his gaze drifting to the pool table where Derek and Emily were embroiled in a heated game, Rossi leaning against the wall and calling out tips that neither of them listened to.

JJ was about to press him further when her eyes went wide, and a grin spread across her face. She leaned forward suddenly, her expression brightening with mischief as she looked just over Spencer’s shoulder. “What?” he asked, furrowing his brows at her sudden change in demeanor, confused by the excitement lighting up her eyes.

JJ just nodded toward the bar, barely able to contain her grin. “Your girl’s here,” she said, in a sing-song voice that only JJ could pull off without sounding ridiculous.

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped, a wave of hope and disbelief washing over him. He turned around quickly, eyes scanning the crowd of off-duty officers, detectives, and FBI agents mingling around the room. And then he saw you. Standing by the bar, chatting casually with the bartender as you waited for your drink, you looked effortlessly stunning, the dim lights of the bar casting a soft glow on your features.

He whipped back around to face JJ, panic and excitement mingling in his expression. “What—what do I do?” He sounded more flustered than he’d meant to, and JJ couldn’t help but laugh at his wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Well, you could start by getting up and talking to her, genius,” she said with a teasing nudge. “I think that’s a pretty good place to start.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped up from the booth, nearly knocking over his drink in his haste, and made his way over to the bar, trying to gather his composure with each step. His heart pounded in his chest, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind—was this just a coincidence? Had you come here to see him? What if you were here with someone else? He shook his head, trying to push the nervous thoughts away as he closed the gap between you.

You looked up just as he approached, a soft smile spreading across your lips as your eyes met his. “Dr. Reid,” you said in greeting, the warmth in your voice making his nerves settle—just a little.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little breathless as he stood beside you. He struggled for words, trying to find the right thing to say, the right way to act after days of silence. “I, uh... didn’t expect to see you here.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance as you stood before him, and he couldn’t help but let his profiler instincts kick in, analyzing every detail of your outfit. You looked effortlessly polished, your blazer open just enough to be casual yet elegant, paired with a skirt that hit the perfect balance of professional and playful. He couldn’t shake the thought—had you dressed up for someone? The idea made his stomach twist with nerves.

The silence stretched between you, and you shifted slightly on your feet, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. You nodded awkwardly, your voice trailing off, “Yeah…”

Spencer looked at you, trying to make sense of everything. His palms started to sweat, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Are you... meeting someone here?”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you let out an awkward laugh, your hands playing with the strap of your bag as you shrugged. “You? Hopefully?” You gave a half-smile, one that was both hopeful and embarrassed. “I mean, I never heard back from you, so I was kind of... taking a chance here.”

Spencer's brows furrowed, and he felt his head start to spin. What did you mean you never heard back from him? He felt like the ground was moving beneath him as he tried to piece together what could have happened. “What?” he asked, his voice quiet, uncertainty and panic creeping in.

You let out another nervous laugh, clearly unsure of what to make of his reaction. “It’s okay if you changed your mind,” you said quickly, looking down at your drink as if it held all the answers you needed. “Let’s not make this any more awkward, please. I just... didn’t want to let it be this weird thing hanging over us, y’know?”

The words hit him like a freight train. Changed his mind? No—no, that wasn’t right. He never changed his mind. In fact, he had been waiting on pins and needles for a response from you, thinking that you were the one who had changed your mind. But something clearly had gone wrong, and Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to figure out how to salvage the moment, how to explain himself to you without making things worse.

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I didn’t change my mind. I... I sent you a message, I swear. I thought you were the one who... didn’t respond.” He could hear how frantic he sounded, and he hated it, hated that he was coming across as desperate, but it was the truth. “I’ve been checking my phone for days, I swear—”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your expression filled with curiosity and sympathy. Spencer’s clear panic, the earnest way he was nearly tripping over his own words, had you leaning towards trusting his side of things. He didn’t seem like the type to play games, and that flicker of hope in his eyes as he watched you seemed genuine—almost too genuine.

“Can I see your phone, Dr. Reid?” you asked, holding out your hand. Your tone was light but held a hint of authority, like you were about to solve one of his computer problems again, only this time, with a very different sort of error.

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he immediately fumbled in his pocket, fishing out the device with shaky hands. “Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, handing it over to you without hesitation. He was clearly desperate for an explanation, any explanation that didn’t involve you losing interest in him.

You took his phone and your fingers flew across the screen, pulling up his email app, your expression turning more focused as you scanned through the settings. He watched you, nervous but fascinated at how deftly you navigated through his phone, a slight furrow forming on his brow as you did... whatever it was you were doing. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he hoped for a miracle.

Then, all of a sudden, you let out a small, involuntary snort—a sound so genuine and cute that it caught Spencer off guard. His heart did a flip in his chest at how unguarded and... normal it was. It wasn't a laugh of mockery, but a laugh of oh, of course.

“What?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, but unable to hide the edge of panic creeping back in. “What did you find?”

You flipped the phone around to show him the screen, and there, clear as day, was the culprit. “You have your email set to send unknown contacts to spam,” you explained with a bemused smile. Your finger pointed to the tiny, barely noticeable setting, and there, nestled in his spam folder, was your email—unread, unopened, and very much the response he had been waiting for.

Spencer stared at the screen, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment crash over him like a tidal wave. “Oh my God,” he breathed, looking from his phone to you and back again, his face flushing a deep shade of red. “I... I didn’t— I had no idea that setting was on.” He let out a slightly shaky laugh, and then another, the tension melting from his body as he realized how silly this whole situation had been.

“Yeah, looks like you had a 'filter spam' setting for any emails from unknown contacts,” you said, the teasing tone in your voice unmistakable. “So my email went straight to your spam folder. Not exactly where I wanted it to end up.”

He let out another nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head at himself. “I am... so sorry. I spent the last few days thinking... well, thinking you just didn’t want to respond.”

“Trust me,” you said, smiling as you handed his phone back, “I get it. And for what it’s worth, I was kind of doing the same thing.” You bit your lip, giving him a small, conspiratorial grin. “So... do we get to hit the reset button on that? Maybe... pretend like I never ended up in your spam folder in the first place?”

Spencer nodded eagerly, grateful beyond words for your understanding. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, please. Reset button. I’d like that very much.”

“Good,” you said, lifting your glass in his direction again, that warmth in your eyes making his stomach do another flip. “So... let’s start over.”

“Yeah,” he replied, meeting your gaze with a smile that finally reached his eyes. “Let’s start over.” And as he raised his own drink to yours, Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relieved—so genuinely happy—as he did right then.

You grabbed a drink and settled in beside Spencer, sliding into the booth with an ease that immediately lightened the mood. The team noticed the shift instantly. Derek raised his eyebrows, nudging Emily with a smirk as they all watched you laugh, Spencer's posture now more relaxed than they'd seen all week.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted, giving a wave to the rest of the team as they took you in. “Hope you don’t mind if I crash the party.”

“Mind?” Emily grinned, tossing her pool cue over her shoulder. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up all week.”

“Yeah, and give us a chance to figure out what’s got pretty boy here all tied up in knots,” Derek added with a teasing wink. Spencer flushed but didn’t look away from you, a rare boldness shining through as you held his gaze.

“Well, glad I could make the diagnosis clear,” you joked back, leaning into the banter as if you’d known them for years. You turned to Spencer, who looked slightly flustered but undeniably happy. “So, Dr. Reid, do you play pool, or is that not your style?”

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with that familiar spark of confidence you’d seen before. “I do,” he admitted, leaning in just a touch closer. “But I have to warn you, I'm not exactly an amateur.”

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms in mock challenge. “I might have to see that for myself. Maybe you could give me a few pointers?”

The playful energy between you was palpable, and JJ’s laugh cut through the noise of the bar. “Oh, this is going to be good,” she murmured to Rossi, who was sipping his drink with a satisfied smile, clearly enjoying the way the night was unfolding.

Derek hopped up from his seat, grabbing another cue and handing it over to you. “Alright, newcomer, you're up. Let’s see if you can hold your own against Spencer 'Einstein' Reid here.”

You grinned, accepting the cue as you approached the pool table. “So, any rules I should know about?” you asked, pretending to be oblivious as you leaned over the table to line up a shot.

Spencer stood beside you, his own cue resting against his side as he cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, his voice taking on a soft, instructive tone, “it's all about angles and force. You have to judge the best way to break the rack and control the white cue ball.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your expression playful. “Think you could... show me?” You took your stance, leaning down to take the first shot, but purposefully not quite getting it right, leaving plenty of room for Spencer to join you.

Spencer, catching on to your flirtation, stepped behind you. He placed his hands over yours, gently guiding your grip on the cue stick, his voice low in your ear as he explained. “Like this,” he said, positioning your hands. “And you want to keep your body steady, like this.” His chest brushed lightly against your back, and you couldn’t help but smile at the closeness, the tension thickening between you.

You let him guide the shot, and as the cue ball cracked against the rack, the other balls scattered across the table in a perfect spread. You both stood back, admiring the shot, and he met your eyes with a triumphant grin. “Not bad, huh?”

You let out a laugh, turning to face him fully. “I think you’re a pretty good teacher, Dr. Reid,” you said, holding his gaze. “Though I get the feeling you're holding back on me. I might need a few more... lessons.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and there was a flicker of challenge in his eyes that you found irresistibly charming. “Oh, don't worry,” he said, leaning just close enough for your shoulders to brush. “I can think of a few more things to show you.”

The rest of the team watched with amusement as the two of you circled around the pool table, trading flirty remarks and friendly taunts, the ease between you growing more natural with every passing minute. The night was fresh, fun, and filled with laughter, and as you leaned in closer to Spencer, both of you barely hiding your smiles, it was clear that this wasn’t just a simple bar game anymore.

It was the start of something much more promising.

The night at O’Keefe’s stretched on, the hours slipping by in the warm haze of laughter, clinking glasses, and the quiet spark between you and Spencer. As the drinks flowed, so did the stories—Rossi sharing old tales from his early days in the FBI, Emily chiming in with outrageous anecdotes about undercover missions gone wrong, and Derek doing impressions of just about everyone on the team, much to everyone’s amusement.

Slowly, the night began to wind down, the team peeling off one by one. Hotch checked his watch, an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, Jack’s probably still up waiting for me to get home,” he said, downing the rest of his drink in one smooth motion. “I should get going.”

“Yeah,” JJ added with a sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stood up from the booth. “Henry’s going to be bouncing off the walls early tomorrow morning. Can’t wait to find out what he’s gotten into this time.” She gave Spencer a warm hug and then shot you a quick, friendly smile. “It was great meeting you officially, by the way. Take care of our boy, okay?”

“I will,” you said, grinning back as she squeezed your arm. You watched as JJ and Hotch made their way to the door, exchanging goodbyes with the team, leaving the booth feeling a little emptier.

“Alright,” Rossi said a few moments later, patting Emily on the back and standing to stretch. “I suppose it’s my turn to play chauffeur. Ready, Emily?”

Emily, who had already been halfway through another drink, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Guess that’s my cue.” She gave you a friendly nod. “Don’t let these two tease you too much,” she said, motioning toward Derek and Penelope. “They can be relentless.”

Rossi chuckled, giving Spencer a knowing look. “Behave, kid,” he said with a wink, before guiding Emily toward the exit, the two of them laughing as they disappeared into the night.

That left you, Spencer, Derek, and Penelope at the booth. Penelope, however, had clearly been indulging in a few too many drinks and was staring mournfully into her glass, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about... the mom in Bambi,” she hiccuped, her voice cracking with an exaggerated sob. “She didn’t deserve to die, Derek! She... she didn’t even see it coming!”

“Oh, come on, mama,” Derek said with a gentle smile, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s get you home before you start on The Lion King or we’ll be here all night.”

“Simba...” Penelope wailed as Derek guided her toward the door, waving haphazardly to you and Spencer. “Poor Simba...”

“Alright, that’s our cue,” Derek said as he all but carried Penelope away, glancing back over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “You two lovebirds stay out of trouble now.” He waggled his eyebrows, his voice dropping into a teasing, mock-serious tone. “And remember—use protection. I don’t need to be godfather to any surprise Reid juniors.”

Your face flushed at his words, and you let out an awkward laugh, waving him off. “Jeez!”

Spencer, equally flustered but trying to play it cool, cleared his throat and gave Derek a tight-lipped smile. “Goodnight, Morgan.”

“Night, pretty boy!” Derek called back, dragging Penelope out the door as she continued to mumble something about baby deer and heartbreak.

And then it was just you and Spencer, the bar a little quieter now that most of the team had gone, leaving an intimacy to the moment that hadn’t been there before. He looked at you, the smile on his face softer than it had been all night. “Well,” he said, voice low as he leaned a little closer, “looks like it’s just the two of us now.”

“Yeah,” you replied, meeting his eyes, feeling the warm, heady buzz of the night settling around you. “Just us.”

Spencer's eyes were locked on yours, and for a moment, it seemed like time stood still around you both. The sounds of the bar, the chatter of remaining patrons, and even the buzz of the city outside faded into a background hum, leaving just you, him, and the heavy sense of something left unsaid. He didn't want another week of doubt, didn't want to leave this up to chance again, and it was that thought—that fear of missing out on whatever this was—that spurred him to do something he never would have considered before tonight.

He took a breath, inching closer to you, and you felt the shift immediately, the way his whole demeanor seemed to change—his usual hesitance giving way to a new, quiet confidence. You watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips, just for a moment, before meeting your gaze again. And then, before you could say anything, before you could second-guess or tease him for the boldness, he leaned in.

The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt the soft tickle of his breath against your ear, making your skin tingle. His voice was low, intimate, and sent a shiver down your spine as he spoke. “I don’t... I don’t want to let you walk out of here and spend another week wondering if you’re thinking about me the way I’m thinking about you.”

You turned your head slightly, your noses almost brushing as you found yourself face-to-face with him, his eyes so close to yours that you could see every fleck of gold and green in their depths. “Spencer...” you whispered, your voice breathy and light, caught somewhere between surprise and excitement.

“Come home with me?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with an urgency you’d never heard from him before.

You nodded, the word catching in your throat as you stared at him, the world around you dissolving into just Spencer—the wild curls falling into his face, the way his eyes held yours as if there was no one else in the room. You half-expected him to kiss you then and there, the air thick with anticipation, your breath mingling, but instead, he did something that made your heart race even faster.

He pulled back just slightly, that gentle smile never leaving his face, and grabbed your hand firmly in his. It was a simple gesture, but the way he intertwined his fingers with yours felt electric, like everything you'd both been holding back had suddenly found its outlet. And then, without another word, he tugged you along, weaving his way through the crowd, barely giving you a chance to react before he was guiding you out of the bar, his fingers tightening around yours as he dragged you toward the door.

You followed without hesitation, caught up in his momentum, and the night air hit you like a splash of cool water as you both stumbled outside. Spencer’s eyes darted around, searching for a cab, and his breath came fast—not from exertion, but from the sheer thrill of the moment, the heady realization that you were with him, that this was happening.

As soon as he spotted an empty cab, his hand shot up, flagging it down. He opened the door for you, his eyes meeting yours once more, a question lingering in them—a last, silent “Are you sure?” But the look on your face was answer enough, filled with excitement, nerves, and that same intoxicating certainty.

He followed you into the backseat, and as soon as the door shut, his knee brushed yours, and he laced his fingers with yours again, not letting go for even a second. The cab driver’s voice was a distant hum as Spencer gave his address, and then the car pulled away, the city lights blurring by as you sat side by side, hands clasped together, hearts pounding in sync.

This was the beginning of something you couldn’t quite name, but you knew one thing for sure—there was no way either of you would let it slip through your fingers.

The cab ride felt like an eternity, yet all too brief at the same time. Spencer's hand never let go of yours, fingers entwined tightly as if holding on for dear life. He was trying so hard to stay composed, but you could see it—the way his knee bounced nervously, how his thumb traced tiny circles over your knuckles, his breath quickening each time your shoulders brushed. You were both suspended in that heady anticipation, caught between knowing and not knowing what would happen next, and it made every second feel electric.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of his apartment, Spencer fumbled with his wallet, tossing cash to the driver with an almost frantic urgency. You followed him out into the night, and the minute your feet hit the pavement, he was pulling you along with him again, guiding you up the steps to his building, his grip still tight on your hand.

You hardly noticed the details of his apartment building as you rushed up the stairs. Every step felt like a race, a heartbeat, and you were both half-running, half-laughing, breaths coming fast from excitement more than exertion. And then you were at his door, and Spencer’s fingers were shaking just slightly as he worked the keys, the metal clinking in his hands before the lock finally clicked open.

The door swung open, and the two of you tumbled into his apartment, breathless and caught up in the whirlwind of it all. For a split second, the room seemed still, the tension thick as you stood in his entryway, just inches apart. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, could see the way his chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, and you waited—waited for that final move, for him to close the space between you.

And then he did.

Spencer's hand cupped your cheek as he leaned in, eyes locking on yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. And when his lips finally met yours, soft yet urgent, it was like fireworks—white-hot and bright behind your eyes, the world exploding into a thousand colors and sensations. The kiss was everything and nothing like you’d expected: gentle yet hungry, trembling yet sure, like he’d been holding back for so long and finally, finally let the dam break.

You melted into him, your hands finding the front of his shirt, balling up the fabric in your fists to pull him closer. His other hand slid around your waist, drawing you in until there was no space left between your bodies, just heat and breath and the taste of him, sweet and real. You could feel him smile against your lips, a quick exhale of a laugh as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either, but didn’t want to stop long enough to find out if it was a dream.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, and he pulled you even closer, backing you up against the door until you were pressed against it, the wood cool against your back while every inch of him pressed into you. One of his hands tangled in your hair, his fingers threading through the strands as if anchoring himself to you, and you tilted your head, letting him kiss you deeper, letting the kiss say all the things the two of you hadn’t yet put into words.

You could feel the thrill, the longing, the nervousness all at once, but there was also something so simple, so right in the way you fit together.

Spencer’s mind was spinning, like he was trying to piece together a thousand thoughts and sensations all at once. Finally having you in his arms—feeling the warmth of your body pressed to his, the taste of your lips—was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Sure, it had only been two weeks since he met you, but the intensity was overwhelming. Every touch, every kiss was like kindling, igniting a fire in him that burned hotter and brighter than he knew was possible.

And you? Being held so close by him, feeling his desperation and his need, made your heart race with its own frantic rhythm. It was an honor to be desired like this, especially by someone like Spencer—someone so brilliant, so genuinely good, and so intensely captivated by you. And to think that you’d had a secret crush on him for the last six months, ever since you first started at the FBI. You had admired him from a distance—the genius profiler, the man who seemed to know so much yet still carried himself with a gentle shyness that only made him more endearing. You’d never thought he’d even notice you, let alone look at you like this, like you were the only thing in the world he wanted.

When he finally started to notice you—those glances, the excuses for “technical help” that grew more and more frequent—you felt your world tilt on its axis. The way he looked at you was different from how he looked at anyone else, and when his eyes locked with yours, you could feel yourself leaning into that gravitational pull, your heart skipping in time with his.

“Y/N...” Spencer’s voice came out as a whisper against your lips, trembling and rough, like he was fighting to keep control, fighting to hold himself back just enough to give you the choice. “I want you so bad... please say I can have you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft, almost breathless laugh, your hands sliding up to cradle his face. The need in his eyes, the raw desire that seemed to consume every part of him—it was everything you’d secretly wished for, everything you’d imagined late at night when your mind wandered to the idea of being his.

“You can,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, to let him see the truth in your eyes. “You can have me, Spencer. I’m yours.”

And that was all it took for the dam to break. Spencer’s mouth was on yours again, hungrier this time, a deep, desperate need spilling from his lips to yours as he kissed you like he was starved for you. He pressed you harder against the door, and his hands roamed your body—first up your sides, then down to your waist, finally settling on your hips as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on, and he groaned softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating through you and making your knees go weak. You wanted all of him—his intensity, his passion, and the vulnerable tenderness that only made you crave him more.

“Tell me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and ragged. “Tell me what you want. I want to know... I need to know.” His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the urgency in every movement, every touch, like he was holding on to the very thing he’d dreamed of but never thought he could have.

You looked at him, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. “I want you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with all the longing you’d kept hidden for so long. “I want everything with you. Right now.”

Spencer's grin was wicked and hungry, and the look in his eyes left you feeling like you were the only person in the world. You could see the wheels turning behind them—he was trying to make sense of what you wanted, to understand the boundaries, to feel out how much of himself he could give without overstepping. And when you said you wanted "everything," his mind had latched onto one word, one meaning: sex. That was something tangible, something he knew how to give, even if his experience was limited.

If that was what you were willing to give, he would take it gladly, wholeheartedly—because how could he not? But deep down, beneath all the desire and adrenaline, Spencer craved so much more than just the physical. He had wanted you in ways he couldn’t articulate—ever since you’d started drifting into his orbit. He wanted late-night conversations, sleepy mornings, whispered confessions. He wanted everything you could give him, but if all you meant by "everything" was this, he would be grateful for that, too.

“I’ll give you everything,” he murmured, and his grin grew as he leaned in to kiss you again, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away just slightly. “But maybe we move to the bedroom first?”

Your breath hitched, and you could feel that flutter of excitement and nerves in your chest—the reality of the moment crashing over you like a wave. His words were laced with promise, but it wasn’t the promise you’d thought you were making. To you, “everything” meant his mornings, his afternoons, his nights. His laugh, his thoughts, his fears. You’d been hoping that what had been building between you would lead to more than just the physical; that it would be the start of something that might change both of your lives.

But he’d taken your words as permission to have you tonight—just tonight—and it stung, deep and sharp, like a thorn pricking at your heart. Maybe you’d been wrong to hope for more, wrong to believe there was something real between you beyond just lust and impulse. But if this was all Spencer wanted, then maybe that was enough for now. Maybe it could be enough to have him like this, to be close to him, even if just for one night.

“Yeah,” you said, swallowing the emotions rising in your throat as you forced a smile, doing your best to mirror his energy, to make it seem like you wanted the same thing he did. “The bedroom sounds good.”

He took your hand, his fingers lacing with yours once again, and you tried to push away the disappointment that sat like a stone in your chest. He led you down the hall, fumbling as you both stumbled through the doorway to his room, all tangled limbs and laughter. Spencer tugged you close as soon as you stepped inside, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him, his mouth finding yours once more in a feverish, open-mouthed kiss. And for a second, just a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe there was more behind his touch—that maybe this wasn’t just about tonight.

“You’re so gorgeous, darling,” Spencer murmured, his voice thick with desire as his fingers tangled in the fabric of your blazer. His knuckles brushed against your skin, and his eyes were dark, wide, as if taking in every inch of you all at once. He hesitated for a moment, searching your face, and when he found nothing but eagerness in your eyes, he whispered, “Can I take this off?”

You nodded quickly, the movement of your head almost frantic, and Spencer didn’t waste any time. His hands moved to the buttons of your blazer, deft but slightly trembling with anticipation as he worked his way down, one button at a time. And then, as the fabric slipped away, revealing your bare chest, he let out a low, shaky sigh. “Fuck...” he groaned, the word spilling from his lips like he couldn’t help himself, his eyes locked onto you as if he’d never seen anything so perfect in his life.

You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound light and airy as you reveled in the intensity of his gaze, in the way he looked at you like he was worshiping you. But your laughter quickly turned into a sharp gasp as his hands moved to your breasts, gripping them firmly yet tenderly, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. His palms were warm against your skin, and the way he touched you—like he was savoring every second, every inch—made heat pool in your belly.

Spencer didn’t give you much time to adjust before he dove back in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was hungrier, rougher than before. His fingers dug into your skin as he pulled you closer, molding your body to his as his mouth moved against yours in frantic desperation. Every movement, every brush of his lips, every squeeze of his hands sent sparks shooting down your spine, and you clung to him, matching his intensity with your own as you kissed him back.

He pressed you back toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, and you let him guide you, your back arching under his touch as you felt the cool air of his apartment against your skin, mixing with the heat of his mouth and hands. And the way he touched you, held you, kissed you, left you breathless—his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples, making your back arch dramatically.

"Spencer!" you whined into the darkness, your voice breathy and desperate as you tangled your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him closer and drag him deeper into you. The sound of his name fell from your lips like a plea, and he shuddered at the way it sounded, every syllable dripping with want.

"Mmm, say my name again," he groaned, loving the way it felt rolling off your tongue—how it made him feel like he was all you needed, all you wanted.

“Make me,” you challenged, your voice dipping into a teasing taunt as you tugged lightly at his hair, daring him, pushing him to meet you on this knife’s edge between play and need.

Spencer’s eyes flashed, the darkness of the room amplifying the heat in his gaze. His mouth quirked into a dark smile, and he dipped down, kissing a burning path from your collarbone to your chest. He paused there, nipping at the sensitive skin, his teeth scraping against you, catching the bud of your nipple in his mouth. He held your gaze as he did it, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch in your throat. He sucked lightly, just enough to send a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, your back arching off the bed. But still, you bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds, not willing to give in to him—yet.

"You want to play it like that?" he asked darkly, pulling back to hover over you, his voice a rough whisper that made your stomach flip. The challenge in his eyes, the way they glittered with a mix of hunger and determination, left you breathless, your body buzzing with anticipation.

You nodded, giving him wide, falsely innocent eyes that only spurred him on. "Yeah," you breathed, voice light and taunting, the hint of a smirk on your lips. "What are you gonna do about it, Dr. Reid?"

A growl escaped his throat, low and rough, and his hands moved to your waist, finding the zipper of your skirt. Slowly, methodically, he dragged it down, the sound of the metal teeth parting filling the silence between your racing breaths. He didn’t break eye contact as he did it, his fingers brushing along your hip, pushing the fabric down inch by inch, teasing you, making you wait—making you squirm.

"Let's see how long you can keep up that attitude," he murmured, his voice dark and dripping with promise. "I'm going to make you say my name, over and over, until it's all you can think about."

And with that, Spencer dropped to his knees, pulling your skirt and underwear off the rest of the way, baring you to him in the darkness of his bedroom. The cool air kissed your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hands moved to your thighs, parting them gently, your heart pounding so loudly it echoed in your ears.

“I want to see how long before you’re begging,” he whispered, leaning down, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he nipped and kissed his way up. And as you felt the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands holding you open for him, all you could do was tremble under his touch, knowing that any control you thought you had was about to be undone.

“You still biting that tongue, sweetheart?” Spencer’s voice was husky, the tease wrapped around a threat, and it sent shivers down your spine. He hovered right over your wet, aching core, his breath fanning over you, warm and taunting. You were trying to hold it together, trying to stay strong in this little game you'd started, but it was getting harder and harder with every second that passed, every teasing word that left his lips.

You nodded, the attempt at maintaining composure faltering as a high-pitched, needy "mhm" escaped your throat—a sound more squeak than word.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed with dark satisfaction, and he huffed a breath, his laughter rumbling from his chest as it ghosted across your most sensitive skin. The sensation drove you wild, made your thighs tense as you tried desperately to keep your composure, to hold back the moan threatening to tear out of you. But then he spoke again, his voice a teasing lilt as his eyes stayed locked on yours, and it was almost too much to handle.

“Oh, I’m going to have fun with this,” he said, and without another word, he dove in.

His tongue licked a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, flattening out as if he were savoring every inch of you, the wetness of his mouth sending heat crashing through your entire body. And then he did it again, his tongue gliding through you like he was on a mission—hungry, eager, like he was trying to win a pie-eating contest. Every movement was frantic yet precise, a perfect blend of urgency and skill, his tongue moving against you in ways that made you see stars.

The laughter melted into pure focus as he went to work, his tongue circling and flicking, finding all the places that made you gasp and arch and shake. And he never stopped, never let up, his mouth relentless in its pursuit, as if he wanted to draw every single sound out of you, to hear his name fall from your lips again and again.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging helplessly as the pleasure built and built, and you couldn’t bite back the moans any longer. His name was still held tight behind your teeth, but the noises were free flowing as he sucked on your clit.

Spencer moaned in response, the vibrations adding a whole new level of sensation that made your hips buck against his mouth. He held you steady with his hands, pinning your thighs down as he dove deeper, the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue on you filling the room. And you could feel it, that coil tightening and tightening, your whole body trembling on the edge, Spencer’s mouth pushing you closer and closer.

Spencer pulled back for a second, just enough for you to see the wet shine on his lips, the way his mouth was parted in a smug, wicked grin. “Not gonna break, darling?” he teased, the words slow and taunting as he traced his fingers lazily along your thigh, his eyes never leaving yours.

You shook your head harshly, your hair spreading messily across the pillow, breath coming in quick pants as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But it was getting harder. Every nerve was on fire, every inch of your body craving more of his touch, and all you could do was bite your lip and hope you could hold out a little longer.

Spencer let out a deep, dramatic sigh, as if he were genuinely disappointed. “Guess I’ll have to try something else then,” he murmured, and though the words sounded like he was relenting, you could see the glint in his eyes—the one that said he was far from finished with you.

Before you could even process what he meant, before you could prepare yourself for whatever he had planned, your world spun. He flipped your body over effortlessly, your stomach pressed against the mattress, and then he gripped your hips, pulling you up onto your knees. Your breath hitched in surprise, your face buried in the pillow for a second as you tried to brace yourself, your mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift.

And then, before you could say a word, before you could even think, Spencer dove back in, his mouth finding you again with that same fevered intensity. But this time, he didn’t hold back. His fingers found your clit immediately, and he began rubbing tight, insistent circles, teasing and flicking the sensitive nub with just the right amount of pressure.

You couldn’t help it—you moaned loudly, your body jerking back against his face, the sensation too overwhelming to contain. The change in position had made everything more intense, more exposed, and the way he was touching you was driving you to the edge so fast you could barely keep up.

“Spencer—” you gasped, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into the pillow, your hands clawing at the sheets for something—anything—to hold on to. But Spencer was relentless, his fingers moving expertly as he licked and sucked, his mouth working you over with a single-minded focus.

“Louder,” he commanded against your skin between long, slow licks, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Let me hear you.” And with that, he doubled down, his fingers pressing harder, his mouth driving you absolutely wild, the wetness and heat of him pushing you further and further until there was nothing left to hold back.

Your body trembled, and you felt the pressure building, your resolve crumbling, every breath coming out as a desperate plea, a broken cry. And all the while, Spencer kept at it, refusing to let up, determined to make you fall apart completely, to make you cry out his name like it was all you knew.

"Spencer... oh god, Spencer—" His name spilled from your lips over and over, breathy and desperate, unraveling any control you had left. The more you said it, the more it became a mantra, each syllable breaking apart in the waves of pleasure rolling through your body. Spencer’s eyes flickered up, a satisfied grin spreading across his face, so smug and sure as he watched you crumble.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. It was all the encouragement you needed and all the power he needed to dive back in, his mouth working you with renewed determination. He gripped your thigh tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, his fingers never relenting as they pressed circles against your clit in perfect rhythm with his tongue.

Every lick, every flick of his tongue sent jolts of pleasure crashing through you, and you felt your body tense and tremble, the pressure inside you building to an unbearable peak. It felt like he was everywhere at once—touching, tasting, teasing—and all you could do was give in to the relentless onslaught, your hands clawing at the sheets as your hips bucked involuntarily against his face.

Spencer moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core and pulling you closer and closer to the edge. He wanted to make sure you felt every second of this, every ripple of pleasure, his only focus on bringing you to completion—bringing you to the brink and pushing you over, completely undone by him.

“Spencer, please—” You barely recognized your own voice, high and ragged, pleading as that coil of pleasure twisted tighter and tighter in your belly. And he heard you—oh, he heard you loud and clear. His mouth moved with a purpose now, tongue swirling and flicking over your clit with his fingers as they quickened their pace, leaving you nowhere to go but over the edge, no choice but to fall.

And then, all at once, you shattered, your body arching as your orgasm crashed over you, hard and overwhelming. You cried out his name, a desperate, breathless sob of pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed through you, leaving you trembling and gasping under his touch. And through it all, Spencer never let up, his mouth and fingers guiding you through every second, every pulse, every blissful aftershock.

“Too much,” you whimpered, your voice coming out in a broken cry as Spencer’s tongue continued its work, lapping up everything you’d given him like he was savoring the taste of you. “Spencer!” The overstimulation was making your thighs quiver, your whole body twitching under his relentless touch, and you reached down to push at his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to pull away.

Spencer let out a satisfied hum, and then he gave one last slow, deep suck against you, drawing out every ounce of your pleasure until you were gasping and shaking beneath him. He finally pulled back, placing a gentle kiss to your thigh before giving your ass a playful slap, just hard enough to make you flinch and then giggle softly, your breath coming out in a tired, happy sigh.

“Are you still with me, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice gentle and full of concern as he moved up the bed, helping you flip back over so you were lying face-up, sprawled across his mattress. He settled in next to you, his body warm and solid against your side, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, his fingers tracing soft, soothing circles against your stomach.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, your body buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Yeah,” you managed to say, your voice coming out small and breathless. “I’m... I’m here.” You turned your head to look at him, meeting his eyes, which were full of adoration, his expression soft and open in a way that made your heart swell.

Spencer smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his fingers never stopping their gentle stroking against your skin. “Good,” he whispered, his voice low and tender. “You were amazing.” He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his gaze lingering on you like he was memorizing every detail, every moment. “I hope... I didn’t push too far.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head and giving him a tired but contented smile. “You were perfect.” You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his jawline as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He kissed you back, slow and sweet, holding you close as the two of you lay there, tangled up in each other, the room still buzzing with the energy of what had just happened. And as he held you, his touch gentle and soothing, you felt safe, wanted, and completely, utterly his.

But then your brain finally caught up with your body, reality rushing in to fill the spaces left by pleasure. You couldn't ignore the truth any longer—this wasn’t a relationship, it was a hookup. You'd wanted everything from him, but right now, it seemed like "everything" only meant the physical. And as much as you wanted to lose yourself in the warmth of his touch, the closeness, the tenderness, you reminded yourself that this was just tonight. That he probably didn’t want to cuddle, or hold you, or whisper sweet words to you in the dark.

So you gently pushed his hand away, your touch soft but firm as you sat up, putting just enough distance between the two of you. You felt his eyes on your back, confusion, maybe even concern, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. It was easier to keep moving, to give yourself a new focus rather than dwell on the ache in your chest.

“Is something wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle but tinged with a hint of worry, like he was afraid he’d done something wrong. He scooted up beside you, trying to catch your eye, the warmth of his body still lingering against your side.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip as you steeled yourself, pasting on a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “No, not at all,” you said, your voice a little too bright, a little too eager. “I’m... just returning the favor.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes darkening with arousal at the thought, but there was something else there too—something quieter, sadder. He couldn’t hide the way his expression flickered, the way the tension in his face softened into something more resigned. “Oh,” he breathed out, trying to cover the disappointment in his voice as his stomach twisted. For a moment, he'd thought this could be more than just sex—that maybe you’d want to stay wrapped in his arms, share whispers and touches until the morning. But as he looked at you now, as he saw the way you sat up and turned away, it became clear that wasn’t the case.

And yet, the feel of your skin, the taste of your lips, and the way you were looking at him now with that determined glint in your eye—he couldn’t deny how much he wanted you. Even if just like this.

“Right,” he said, shifting slightly to lie back, his voice lower, more hesitant than it had been all night. “Of course. I... I’d love that.” But even as his words hung in the air, he could feel the growing disconnect between what he wanted and what was happening. His erection tightened under the arousal of what was to come but flagged slightly at the realization of what it meant—that this was just sex to you.

His hand found it’s way to your thigh as he tried to steady himself, to focus on the pleasure and not the ache of being so close to something he couldn’t quite touch. You were right here with him, offering him everything in the only way you thought he wanted it, and for now, he would take it—however he could.

You grinned at Spencer, trying to mask the turmoil swirling inside you, hoping that the sly smile you wore could hide the aching confusion beneath. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, and you let your eyes flick over his face, memorizing every feature, every little detail—the way his eyes were half-lidded with arousal, the blush dusting his cheeks, the anticipation tightening his body beneath yours. It was easier to focus on that, easier to lose yourself in the thrill of the moment than face the other thoughts circling in your mind.

You leaned down, pressing kisses along the column of his neck, feeling his breath catch as your lips brushed over his pulse, warm and quick beneath your touch. He tasted like salt and skin, and you let yourself revel in it as your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, fingers working quickly as you popped each one open. You could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, his body responding to every kiss, every brush of your fingers.

Spencer’s hands found your hips, and he gripped you tightly as you straddled his lap, the warmth of you pressing down against his erection. His eyes fluttered closed as you kissed a path down his neck, teeth grazing lightly, and a low groan rumbled through his chest. He loved the way you felt on top of him, the way you moved, and the way your hands roamed across his skin.

You felt the way his fingers gripped tighter as if trying to ground himself in the moment, as you focused on how he looked beneath you. How beautiful he was in this light, with his shirt half-open and his chest rising and falling with each breath. You peeled back the fabric slowly, exposing his chest inch by inch, the cool air of the room meeting the warmth of his skin.

"God, Spencer," you murmured against his collarbone, letting your voice drip with as much seduction as you could muster, your fingers splaying across his chest. “You look so good like this.” You hoped the words would cover the cracks in your voice, that he wouldn’t hear the faint tremor of uncertainty underneath.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands moving up your sides, and he tilted his head back, giving you full access to him as he tried to focus only on you—on the feel of your body against his, on the way you were making him feel. “Yeah?” he whispered, his voice low and rough with want as he tried to keep himself steady. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

Your lips met his again, desperate and heated, trying to drown out any lingering questions with the taste of him and the feeling of his body pressing against yours, every inch of him wanting you, needing you. You could feel the hard length of him straining against his pants, and it only spurred you on more, hands moving quickly to strip him bare. You worked the button open, dragging his pants and boxers down his hips in one swift motion, eager to feel him, to be as close as possible.

When he was finally exposed, you couldn’t help but pause, taking him in for a moment. The sight of him—hard and ready, the flush of arousal painting him beautifully—left you breathless, and a gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Jesus...” you whispered, and it was all you could manage.

Spencer’s chuckle was soft but nervous, his eyes searching yours, a hint of vulnerability in them despite the heat of the moment. He was waiting, holding back, and you knew he needed to hear something from you, anything that would reassure him, that would let him know you wanted this as much as he did. But the words got caught in your throat, overwhelmed by how badly you needed him, how badly you needed to feel him right then and there.

You didn't say anything else, letting your actions speak for you. With a confident ease, you climbed back up his body, pressing a line of kisses up his torso, then his chest, and finally back to his lips, never letting your eyes leave his as you aligned yourself over him. You reached between your bodies, guiding him to you, and in one smooth movement, you sank down on him, taking him inside, the stretch of him making your head fall back as you moaned low and long.

Spencer’s mouth fell open, a sharp breath escaping as he filled you, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength, his eyes rolling shut as he fought to steady himself. "Oh my god," he groaned, his voice trembling with pleasure as he felt the warmth of you wrap around him, the way you held him tight, every inch of you fitting perfectly against him.

You took a second to adjust, feeling the fullness of him, the way he stretched and pressed against every part of you, and then you started to move, slow and teasing at first, rolling your hips against him. The drag of him inside you, the way he fit, had you gasping and shaking, every movement sending sparks through your body.

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of reverence, and his fingers dug into your hips, trying to keep himself from losing control too soon. “Y/N... oh god, you feel so—” But the words dissolved into another groan as you started to pick up your pace, the heat between you both building to a wild, frantic rhythm that neither of you could hold back from.

All the tension, all the desire from the past weeks melted into each thrust, each roll of your hips, until there was nothing left but you and him, lost together in the purest, most overwhelming pleasure.

Spencer’s hands gripped you tightly, guiding you down hard and deep with every roll of your hips, each thrust driving him further inside until he hit that perfect spot within you. The pleasure was all-consuming, and you couldn't stop the cries that poured from your lips, his name tumbling out of you over and over again, desperate and broken, as if you’d forgotten how to say anything else.

“Spencer—oh god, Spencer—” You could feel the pressure building, your body tightening around him, and you rode him harder, faster, chasing that feeling, the peak that you were so close to reaching. Each thrust, each grind of your hips against his, brought you closer, the pleasure crackling through you like electricity, and all you could do was hold on and let it take you.

Spencer’s voice was a rough groan beneath you, his own control slipping as he watched you come undone. “God, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes locking on yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he took in the way you moved over him, the way you used him. “You’re just... using me to get off?”

You whined in response, unable to form any coherent words, your head nodding almost frantically as you chased that sweet release, riding him like it was the only thing that mattered. You dug your fingers into his chest, nails scraping lightly against his skin as you arched your back, letting every inch of him fill you, stretch you.

“That’s so goddamn hot,” Spencer groaned, his voice breaking as he thrust up to meet you, matching your rhythm. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, from the way your body rocked against his, the way you came apart with every movement. “God, you’re so... beautiful like this.”

He thrust up into you with even more force, spurred on by the desperate way you moaned his name, the way your body responded to him so perfectly. The feeling of you gripping around him, taking him so completely, had him on the edge, barely holding back, but he wanted to see you come undone first—to make you fall apart while you used him for your own pleasure.

And as you moved above him, both of you lost in the heat of it all, you knew you were close, so close, the pressure building and tightening until it was almost unbearable, every cry of his name pushing you closer to that edge, to the release that was just within your reach.

Spencer watched you intently, his gaze locked on your face as you rode him, taking in every little shift in your expression—the way your eyes squeezed shut, the furrow in your brow, the way your mouth fell open as you chased that high, so close to coming undone. He knew you were getting there, teetering right on the edge, and he wanted to be the one to push you over, to watch you fall apart completely.

He brought his fingers down to where your bodies met, finding your clit again. The touch was gentle at first, a teasing brush of his fingertips, and then he pressed down, rubbing firm, tight circles that matched the rhythm of your movements. The sensation sent shockwaves through you, the sudden stimulation pushing you closer, every nerve lighting up as his fingers worked in tandem with his cock inside you.

“Spencer!” you cried out, your voice cracking with pleasure as you jerked against him, your hips stuttering as you tried to keep up the pace, tried to keep that feeling going. But the way he touched you, the way he filled you, it was all too much, too perfect. You clenched tightly around him, your body trembling as the pressure inside you built to an almost unbearable peak.

“That's it, sweetheart,” Spencer groaned, his voice low and rough with desire as he felt you tightening around him, your walls pulsing, squeezing. “Come on, I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

And that was all you needed—all it took was that extra pressure of his fingers, the way his voice coaxed you, deep and sweet, and you couldn’t hold back any longer. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, and you cried out loudly, your entire body shaking as your orgasm washed through you, overwhelming and all-encompassing. You dug your nails into Spencer’s chest, your head falling back as your hips bucked against his, clenching around him tightly, rhythmically, drawing him even deeper as the pleasure rolled over you in wave after wave.

Spencer watched you come undone, his eyes drinking in every second of your release, feeling every pulse and tremor as you came around him. And God, the way you fell apart in his hands, the sound of your cries, your moans—it drove him wild, pushed him right to the brink of losing control.

Spencer’s own release was close, too close to hold back any longer as he felt you pulsing around him, your cries of pleasure echoing in his ears. He couldn’t last, not with the way you were trembling, the way you were milking him with every pulse of your orgasm.

With a shaky groan, he quickly pushed your body off of his, the movement almost frantic, and you landed on your back beside him. He wrapped his hand around himself, working his length fast and hard, chasing his own high with ragged breaths. He leaned over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumped himself, his strokes quick and desperate as he watched you, your face still flushed and blissed-out from your release.

“Fuck—” he choked out, and then, with a few more rough strokes, he finished, spilling hot across both your stomachs, his eyes squeezing shut as he came undone. His groans were deep and guttural, his hips jerking as he rode out his climax, and he kept pumping himself, milking every last drop as it painted your skin, hot and slick.

He stilled above you, panting heavily as he slowly came back down, his body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. The sticky heat of his release covered both of you, mingling between your skin, and for a moment, all you could hear were the soft gasps of breath between you, the air thick with the heady scent of sweat and sex.

You wanted nothing more than to cuddle up beside Spencer and melt into his warmth, to trace the lines of his face with your fingertips and let yourself fall completely into this moment. But you knew better. You knew that if you stayed, if you let yourself indulge in the comfort of his arms and the soft, gentle post-coital haze that hung between you, you’d only fall for him harder. And you couldn’t do that—couldn’t let yourself want more than what this was supposed to be.

So you forced a laugh, light and casual, as you started to pull yourself up, peeling away from the tangled sheets and the heat of his body. You felt Spencer’s eyes on you, heard the confusion in his voice when he spoke. “Where—where are you going?” he asked, his voice still heavy with exhaustion and bliss, soft and a little vulnerable as he propped himself up on his elbow to look at you.

You turned to him, trying to keep your tone easy, like this wasn’t a big deal, like the moment you just shared didn’t make your heart want to explode with everything you felt for him. “Um, pee,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes as you reached for your scattered clothes, finding tissues for your stomach before pulling your clothes on. “And then... home.”

“Home?” The word came out small and tired, and he pushed himself up a little further, watching you with a furrowed brow. “But—”

“Where’s your bathroom?” You interrupted, flashing him a quick, forced smile. You could see the slight hurt flash across his face, but you kept going, not letting yourself dwell on it. You couldn’t let him see the hesitation, the way your hands were trembling slightly as you tried to gather yourself.

“Down the hall, to the left,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of that sleepy warmth, a touch of disappointment leaking in.

“Great, thanks,” you replied, already making your way out of the room before he could ask any more questions or before the guilt could creep up and make you stay. Because if you stayed, even for a second longer, you were afraid you’d never leave.

After taking a moment in the bathroom to compose yourself, you splashed some water on your face, staring at your reflection. You tried to convince yourself that this was the right thing to do—that leaving now, before things got any more complicated, was what you both needed. But as you stepped out, walking back down the hall and catching a glimpse of Spencer waiting for you near the front door, the resolve you’d tried to build up wavered.

He looked... different. Still tousled from your time together, his hair a wild mess, and his shirt half-open, but his expression was carefully neutral, masking whatever he might be feeling behind a tired, gentle smile. You could see the hint of some almost sad in his eyes, the way he was trying to be a gentleman about it all.

“Let me... let me walk you out,” Spencer said softly, moving to open the door for you. He was trying to keep his tone casual, but you could hear the strain in it, the unspoken question in his voice—did this mean anything to you? Were you going to leave and forget what happened?

You nodded, swallowing down the knot in your throat as you stepped closer to him. “Thank you,” you said quietly, not really knowing what else to say. Your words felt small and empty against the weight of everything that had just happened, of everything you were leaving unsaid.

He held the door open for you, the cool air from the hallway washing over both of you. And as you stepped out into that space, Spencer followed you, walking just a little bit behind as if making sure you wouldn't change your mind at the last second and turn back around. The silence between you was heavy, filled with everything you wished you could say, but couldn’t find the words for.

When you reached the doorway to the building, Spencer hesitated, his hand resting on the doorframe as he turned to you one last time, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that might give him a reason to ask you to stay. But all he could do was give you that same tired, bittersweet smile, the one that tried to be reassuring, like this was just another night, even though both of you knew it wasn’t.

“So... um, thanks,” you said awkwardly, glancing down at your feet, not wanting to meet his eyes. You could feel the warmth of his gaze on you, the way he was trying so hard to keep his composure, to act like this was okay when it was anything but. “For tonight. It was...”

“Yeah,” Spencer said quickly, nodding as if to cut you off, to spare you from having to finish the thought. “Yeah, of course. Thank you for... everything.”

He was trying to act like it didn’t hurt, like he wasn’t struggling to let you go. He reached out to open the door fully, stepping aside to let you through, and you could see the way he forced himself to smile, to be the gentleman that he always was, no matter how much it stung.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his voice gentle but edged with something fragile.

You nodded, giving him one last smile before stepping out into the hallway, letting the door close behind you. And as you walked away, hearing the faint click of the lock as Spencer closed the door to his apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were making a mistake by leaving, or if you were saving yourself from the hurt and rejection that you didn’t want to face.

—

Monday morning came with a bustle of energy through the bullpen—the start of a new week and, for the team, the renewed curiosity about what had gone down between Spencer and his "girl." It didn't take long for the teasing to start, either. From the moment Spencer walked in, sipping his coffee and trying his best to shake off the weekend’s melancholy, he could see the glances, the grins that were being traded across the room like secrets.

Derek was the first to pounce, of course. “Well, well, well,” he called out as Spencer passed by his desk. “There he is—the man of the hour. So, pretty boy, how was your weekend? Got any fun stories you want to share?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face as if he knew exactly what kind of weekend Spencer had.

JJ joined in, setting her file down and giving Spencer a warm, knowing smile. “Yeah, Spence, you seemed... pretty cozy on Friday night.” She wagged her eyebrows playfully, nudging Emily, who tried to cover a laugh with a sip of her coffee.

Spencer felt his face flush, his mind immediately going back to every detail of the weekend—the feel of your skin, the taste of your lips, the way your voice had wrapped around his name. But that was quickly overshadowed by the stark reality of how it had ended, the way you’d quietly slipped away from his apartment, leaving him standing alone at his door with that empty feeling gnawing at his chest. He tried to push those thoughts away, forcing a smile that he hoped looked genuine.

“It was... good,” he said, his voice strained but steady as he tried to keep things light, to play along. He didn't want to reveal how much it hurt, how much he missed you already, and how little he understood what had gone wrong. “I’m hoping to see her again soon.”

“Good?” Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “That's all you got for us? Come on, Reid, you two were practically eye-fucking all night. Don’t tell me nothing happened after we left.”

Spencer's stomach twisted painfully at the mention, but he kept his smile plastered on, his eyes darting between Derek, JJ, and Emily, who were all watching him like hawks. It stung—the teasing, the jokes, all the assumptions that this was some carefree fling. But he nodded along, chuckling softly, trying to play the part they wanted to see. “Yeah, well... we, uh, definitely had fun,” he said, voice dipping into a joking tone to cover up how much it hurt to talk about. “I mean, we’ll see what happens. But yeah, I’d like to see her again.”

“Yeah, you better,” JJ added with a teasing smile. “Don’t let her get away, Spence. She seemed really into you.”

Spencer could only nod, his jaw clenching as he forced another smile, wishing he could know what was going on in your mind—whether you felt the same tug he did, the same yearning to make this more than just a fleeting encounter. But he didn’t know, and it left him trying to walk the tightrope between hope and disappointment, pretending like he was confident it would all work out when he had no idea if he’d ever see you again.

“Yeah,” he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else. “I hope so too.”

And with that, he settled down at his desk, burying himself in case files and paperwork, doing his best to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest—an ache that wouldn’t go away until he knew for sure whether that night was a beginning or just a beautiful, painful end.

—

It was a slow, uneventful morning until Hotch's computer decided to crash—a rare occurrence, almost as if it was a twist of fate. Penelope Garcia had called in sick, leaving the team without their usual tech support, and within minutes, someone had dialed down to IT, asking for assistance. And that someone, by sheer luck or cruel coincidence, was you.

You hadn't seen Spencer since that night two weeks ago, since you’d slipped out of his apartment with all the confused, conflicting emotions weighing you down. And now, you were walking into the lion’s den again, nervous energy buzzing in your veins as you stepped off the elevator and into the BAU's office.

You did a quick sweep, your eyes flickering around the bullpen, half hoping to catch sight of him, half praying you wouldn't. But Spencer wasn’t there. Relief flooded you, though it didn't completely ease the tension that coiled in your chest as you made your way to Hotch’s office, trying to keep your head down and your nerves at bay.

Inside the office, Hotch greeted you with his usual calm, professional manner, moving aside to let you work on his computer. You kept your focus on the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard as you tried to fix whatever issue had brought you there. In the background, you could hear the faint chatter of the team, the sounds blending into an indistinct hum as you concentrated on the task at hand.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had just returned from the breakroom, a cup of coffee in his hand, his eyes wandering across the bullpen as he made his way to his desk. Emily couldn’t resist the opportunity to stir the pot. “Hey, Reid,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye, leaning over to speak low enough for only him to hear. “Your girl’s here.”

Spencer froze, his heart skipping a beat at her words. “What?” he asked, his voice hitching slightly as he glanced around, searching for you. He’d all but given up hope on seeing you again, the past two weeks of silence gnawing at him more than he cared to admit. And now, suddenly, there you were. His mind raced, torn between the rush of excitement and the cold twinge of nerves that settled in his stomach. What was he supposed to say? Would you even want to see him after how things had ended?

Before he could think too much about it, you emerged from Hotch’s office, closing the door softly behind you. You kept your eyes trained downward, trying to make yourself small, invisible. If you could just get back to the elevators without making a scene, maybe you could get out of there with your dignity intact. But, of course, luck wasn’t on your side today.

“Hey! IT’s finest!” Derek’s booming voice called out from across the bullpen, drawing all eyes to you instantly. You stopped in your tracks, cringing internally as a dozen pairs of eyes turned in your direction. Spencer’s included.

You forced a smile, though you could feel the tension behind it, as you made your way over to Derek, who was wearing a wide, friendly grin. “Hey, uh... how's it going?” you said, trying to sound casual even though your voice wavered slightly. You could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, and it took all your willpower not to look in his direction. Not yet.

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Derek said, leaning back in his chair. “You know, just solving crimes, catching bad guys. The usual.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “So... what's a pretty thing like you doing back here? Finally caved and came to see our boy Reid?”

Your face heated instantly, and you let out an awkward laugh, shaking your head. “No, no, just... just fixing Hotch’s computer,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “Nothing more exciting than that, I promise.”

“Sure, sure,” Derek said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But come on, don’t tell me you’re just here for tech support.”

You could feel the tension in your shoulders tighten, and you stole a quick, hesitant glance at Spencer. He was standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on you, and there was something soft, almost hopeful in the way he looked at you. It made your heart clench, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

“Uh...” You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together, to keep things professional. “Yeah, just here for the tech support today. Don’t want to distract you guys from your very important crime-solving.” You flashed another smile, this one a little tighter, hoping that Derek would let it go, that he wouldn’t push any further.

But it was clear from the look on his face that he wasn’t going to make it that easy. “Right,” he said, leaning back in his chair, dragging out the word and giving Spencer a sidelong glance. “But maybe you could let Reid walk you out. Y’know, since you’re here and all.”

The suggestion hung in the air, and you felt the eyes of the team flicker between you and Spencer, waiting for one of you to say something, to acknowledge the elephant in the room. And there it was—your chance, your opening. But all you could do was stand there, your mouth dry, your heart pounding as you tried to figure out what to do next.

“Sure,” Spencer said quickly, nodding before his nerves could make him hesitate, walking up to you and motioning for you to follow him. The entire bullpen was alive with curiosity, but he just needed to get you out of there, to talk to you without the eyes and teasing of the team on him. You let your feet carry you forward, not thinking too much about what was happening, just moving, as if the mere act of walking with him would help you find the right words.

When the two of you reached the elevators, safely out of earshot of the others, Spencer hit the button, and the metallic doors loomed before you both, a quiet hum in the background as you stood there in a tense, uncertain silence. “How are you?” he asked after a beat, his voice gentle, like he was feeling his way through the dark.

“Good, yeah,” you said with a small smile, nodding, trying to seem relaxed, like seeing him again wasn’t sending your heart into overdrive. “You?”

“Alright,” he said, but the word felt tight on his tongue, and the forced smile on his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shifted on his feet, nervous but determined to get the words out. “Listen... uh, I would love to see you again.” His eyes searched yours, hopeful but guarded, waiting to see how you would respond, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread.

Your heart hammered in your chest at the unexpected proposal, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral. See you again? What did he mean—see you like a date? See you like the last time? The possibility twisted your insides, and you tried to tamp down your excitement, afraid of reading into something that wasn’t there. “Like, um, like a friends with benefits kind of thing?” you asked, your voice dropping to a hush, your eyes darting away from his as you felt your cheeks flush.

Spencer’s eyes widened at the suggestion, and for a moment, he felt his heart crack painfully in his chest. Friends with benefits. The words echoed in his mind, a harsh reminder that maybe that was still all you saw him as—someone to fulfill a physical need, no strings attached. But he cleared his throat quickly, trying to hide the disappointment and keep his voice steady. If that was what you wanted, then he would take it, even if it wasn’t the everything he had hoped for. “If that’s what you want, yeah,” he said, nodding, his tone measured, trying to keep the hurt from creeping in.

You nodded slowly, mulling over the suggestion in your mind, and Spencer could see the wheels turning, the way you bit your lip as you processed. “Here,” you said suddenly, your voice sharper as you reached for your bag. “Let me give you my number. That way, um, we don’t have any more... mix-ups.”

Spencer fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone, and as he handed it to you, your fingers brushed for just a second, and he felt that familiar warmth between you, the spark that had drawn you together in the first place. He watched as you entered your number into his contacts, typing quickly, and he couldn’t help the tightness in his throat, that small flare of hope that maybe—just maybe—this could still turn into something more.

—

It didn’t turn into more. Whatever fragile hope Spencer had harbored that morning at the elevators was soon buried beneath a pattern—one that quickly set the boundaries of what you and he were to each other. It became late nights where desire spoke louder than words, where you tangled together in sheets, sweaty limbs intertwining as your bodies moved in frenzied desperation, searching for relief in each other’s touch.

There were stolen moments in showers, hurried, steam-filled exchanges that left the water cold by the end. The couches became your playground, backs arching and cries muffled into cushions. Once, in a fit of passion, you even found yourselves in his car, fogging up the windows until the world outside was nothing but a blurred haze of headlights and stars. And then there was that one reckless, electrifying night when you found yourselves in an empty office at the bureau, your hands gripping the edge of a desk as Spencer pressed into you from behind, your lips swollen from rough, unrestrained kisses.

It was hot, it was desperate, it was everything you could’ve ever asked for physically—but it was also never enough. And that was the problem.

Each time you met, you felt yourself slipping further, falling harder, wanting more than just his body. It was becoming impossible to ignore the way you longed for the tenderness in his eyes, the way you craved his words, his thoughts, the parts of him he only showed in stolen, fleeting glimpses when you let your guard down for just a moment. And that longing terrified you. So you built up walls, retreating into the comfort of what was familiar and safe, convincing yourself that if you just kept things purely physical, if you kept your heart locked away, you wouldn’t have to feel the ache of wanting more than he was willing to give.

You started avoiding his gaze during your meetings, your eyes focused on the patterns of the ceiling, on the textures of the sheets, anywhere but on the way he looked at you with those wide, searching eyes, like he was begging you for something you knew he didn’t actually want. You chose to face away more often, burying your face in pillows, letting your hair cover the expressions you couldn’t bear to let him see. You kissed him less, keeping the physicality to hurried touches, heated grinding, and the frantic moments just before release. It was easier that way, you told yourself. Easier to pretend this was only sex, that you could handle it, that this was all you needed.

And you focused on the penetration, not intimacy—because that was the safe part, the part you could control. You held back from the slow, lingering touches, from the tender kisses that came after, from the whispered words of comfort and vulnerability that would only make you fall further.

But Spencer noticed. He noticed every time you turned your face away, every time you shied from his kisses, every time you hurried to get dressed afterward as if you couldn’t stand to linger in his embrace for a second longer. He wanted to hold you, to pull you close, to ask you to stay. But every time he tried, every time he leaned in for more, he felt you pull away, felt you retreat back into that familiar distance, and each time his heart cracked a little bit more.

He tried to tell himself it was fine—that this was what you wanted, that this was all he deserved. He tried to lose himself in the pleasure, to focus on the way you felt around him, the sounds you made, the desperate way you held onto him as you came. But it was getting harder to ignore the ache that settled deep in his chest, the realization that no matter how often you came to him, no matter how many nights you spent tangled together, you would never feel more for him. Not the way he felt for you.

And so every meeting felt bittersweet—a desperate, beautiful lie that neither of you was willing to confront, even as it tore both of you apart piece by piece. You gave Spencer your body, but he wanted your heart. And every time you left his bed, leaving him alone in the darkness, he felt himself break a little more, knowing that, to you, he would never be more than just a hookup.

Even when you hung out with his team, those nights at O’Keefe’s where you and Spencer would laugh, joke, and play along with whatever assumptions the team had about you—those were the nights when everything felt right, even if it was all a pretense. There was an unspoken understanding between you both: in front of the team, you were allowed to touch each other casually, to drape an arm over his shoulder, to tease him playfully. You could let your walls down just enough to give the illusion of a couple, and it made things easier, simpler. And perhaps that was the irony of it all—pretending to be in love felt more real than any of the other moments you shared in the dark, tangled up in each other but hiding everything you really felt.

Those nights were both of your favorites, even if neither of you ever admitted it. You could spend hours at the booth, letting your fingers brush his under the table, leaning into him when he said something that made you laugh, seeing the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. It felt natural, like you could actually be yourselves without the pressure of whatever complicated mess lay beneath the surface. You could talk—really talk. About books, movies, things you loved, things you hated. You’d tell each other stories, recounting things from your childhoods or sharing jokes that left you breathless with laughter, and you’d feel so comfortable, so close, that it almost felt like everything was normal, like everything was real.

And for Spencer, those were the nights when he could feel you—really feel you—in a way he never could when you were both alone. Because as much as he cherished the physical closeness you shared behind closed doors, the passion and the desperate intimacy of your bodies entwined, it was in these fleeting, stolen moments at O’Keefe’s that he felt closest to your heart. When you would reach for his hand under the table and smile softly at him, or when you would brush a lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers lingering on his skin, he could almost convince himself that you felt the same way he did—that this wasn’t just some elaborate charade.

But those nights would always end the same way: you and Spencer leaving together, waving goodbye to the team as if you were a couple heading home for the night, leaving them with knowing smiles and half-teasing jokes. But the minute you were alone, away from prying eyes, the reality would settle back in. You’d let go of his hand. You’d pull away, your laughter softening into something more guarded, more careful. And eventually, no matter how close the two of you got, no matter how much you both secretly wanted to stay together, you would leave.

You would leave him alone at the end of the night—because you had to. Because letting things be more, letting things get real, meant giving up the safety of your carefully constructed distance. So you’d walk away, your heart heavy with the knowledge that the moments you cherished most were always fleeting, always just a little too far out of reach.

And Spencer would stand there, alone in the cold night, watching you go, holding on to the ghost of your touch and the bittersweet ache of wanting more. Because he knew, deep down, that these nights were all you would ever have, and he’d take them—even if they were only pretend, even if they left him lonelier than before.

One particular night, after a long day of cases and a gnawing loneliness that seemed to cling to him like a shadow, Spencer found himself needing more than just the physical—he needed to feel loved, to hear the affection you kept locked away in those moments when you were the most vulnerable. He needed something real, something that reminded him that this wasn’t just sex, even if only for a moment. He needed to feel like you were both giving something to each other.

You were on top of him, your bodies pressed tightly together, but Spencer’s mind was far from just the feeling of your skin on his. He craved that intimacy from your first night together—the way you’d whispered his name like a prayer, like it was the only thing you could think of, the only word that existed in that moment. His hands moved to your hips, guiding you in a slow, needy rhythm, his voice catching in his throat as he whispered, “Say my name... please, sweetheart. Just... please.”

But you shook your head, your movements hitching slightly as you tried to keep the steady pace between you, the friction that grounded you in the moment. “No,” you said simply, and it came out firm, leaving no room for ambiguity. It wasn’t a game this time, not a playful challenge like it had been before. It was the truth, and the truth was, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Saying his name made things too real—it cracked open the walls you’d built around your heart, made it harder to keep your feelings for him hidden.

Spencer’s face fell, but he masked it quickly, trying not to let his disappointment show. He gave a small, tight nod, and didn’t push for more, didn’t beg you the way he wanted to. He kept his hands on your hips, holding you close as you rocked against him, but something in him broke fully that night. A bitter realization set in—one that twisted the love he felt for you into something darker, something sharp and painful.

He began to resent you. He resented you for how much he loved you, how he’d let himself fall so deeply for someone who couldn’t, wouldn’t, give him anything more than her body. He resented the way he craved your touch, the way you had become the person he wanted to see after every case, the person he wanted to come home to. And most of all, he resented how much of himself he was willing to give, only to be met with the cold reminder that this was all it would ever be to you—a hookup, a distraction, never more.

The resentment didn’t come all at once. It crept in like a slow poison, staining every moment you shared, every kiss you almost pressed to his skin, every time you left his bed without a backward glance. He started to pull away, his touches less gentle, his eyes more distant, and it became harder to ignore the walls you’d built between you both. But still, he couldn’t let you go. He couldn’t stop wanting you, couldn’t stop hoping that one day, maybe, you would say his name the way he so desperately wanted you to—like he was more than just a body beneath yours, like he meant something.

And so the nights went on, tangled in bedsheets and longing, both of you pretending not to notice the widening chasm between desire and what lay underneath it. But for Spencer, it became clear—painfully, heartbreakingly clear—that loving you was something he’d have to endure quietly, silently, as you continued to offer him your body but never your heart.

—

The night at O’Keefe’s was supposed to be like any other—one of the rare occasions you still went out with the team, where the drinks flowed freely, and everyone could let loose. You sat at the booth as you tried to laugh at Derek’s jokes, nod at JJ’s stories, pretend that everything was fine. But then you saw it—the way Spencer’s eyes lingered on the bartender as he got another drink, the slight lean-in of his body when they laughed at something he said. The way he flashed them that special smile you thought he reserved for you—the way they winked at him when they passed him his drink.

It broke you. Completely shattered the fragile facade you’d held on to for weeks. Your stomach churned at the sight, your heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice. He cares so little about me, you thought bitterly, that he could flirt right in front of me? And then what? Take me home afterward, like nothing had happened? Like I'm just a convenient body?

As Spencer made his way back to the table, a satisfied, secret smile on his face—one that once would have made your heart flutter but now only made you feel sick—you couldn’t hold it together anymore. You shot up from your seat, brushing past him, barely able to mutter an excuse. He reached out for you, but you shook off his touch, your only focus on getting outside, on breathing, on escaping the sudden wave of tears that threatened to choke you.

“What was that about?” Emily asked, a frown forming as she watched you hurry away.

Spencer shrugged, his smile faltering as he looked back at the table, feeling a pang of anxiety. “I... I don’t know,” he said honestly, staring after you, his brow furrowing.

The team exchanged glances, and JJ leaned over, her voice gentle as she said, “Maybe you should go check on her, Spence. She’s your girlfriend; she probably needs you right now.”

Spencer’s mouth went dry at the word “girlfriend.” They all assumed—had assumed for months—that you were together, that you were a real couple. But in this moment, it didn’t matter what label they had put on it; it only mattered that something was wrong. He didn’t know why, but he needed to find out.

When he got outside, he saw you standing against the wall, your back to him, hands covering your face as you took deep, shaking breaths. The cold air turned every exhale into tiny clouds, and your shoulders trembled slightly as you tried to hold yourself together.

“Y/N?” he asked softly, his voice barely carrying above the nighttime sounds of the city. He didn’t want to startle you, but you whipped your head to look at him instantly, your eyes wide and pained, before you quickly turned away again, swiping at your face like you could erase all evidence of the tears.

“Are you okay?” Spencer tried again, taking a tentative step closer, his voice laced with concern.

“Yup,” you replied, voice wobbling against your hardest attempts to sound steady, your eyes darting upward, desperate to stop the tears from falling again.

“Why are you out here?” Spencer's tone was gentle, and you hated how much care was in it. You hated how much you still wanted to hear it, even now.

“Just needed some air,” you said with a sniffle, your voice barely above a whisper. But it trembled, and you knew he could hear it.

Spencer moved closer, finally getting a clear look at your face, at the tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. “You’re crying,” he said softly, like he couldn't quite believe it.

You nodded slowly, and finally, you faced him fully, unable to hold back the swell of emotions any longer. “Um. I’m so sorry,” you said quickly, wiping the fresh tears away with the back of your hand.

Spencer’s brow furrowed deeper in confusion, and he took a step closer, wanting to reach for you but stopping short. “Why? Did something happen?”

You let out a bitter laugh, one that was more sob than amusement. “Yeah. I—uh, I fell in love with you.” The words tumbled out in a rush, harsh and ragged, and the moment they were out, you regretted it, wished you could take them back, swallow them down. But it was too late.

Spencer stood there, completely stunned, his face paling as he tried to process your words. “What?” he whispered, voice cracking on the word. He felt like the ground had just shifted beneath him, and he was scrambling to understand, to catch up to everything you were saying.

“It’s fine,” you said hurriedly, holding up a hand as if to stop him from saying anything more. “You don’t have to say it back or anything. I know you don’t feel the same. I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry.” Your lip wobbled, and you bit down on it hard, willing the tears to stay at bay. “Just—seeing you flirt with that bartender...”

Spencer’s face tightened, and he shook his head quickly. “I wasn’t,” he said, clearing his throat, trying to find the words. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“It’s okay, Spencer.” You felt another sob rise in your throat, and you pressed your hand over your mouth to stifle it. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not your girlfriend.”

Spencer bit his tongue, the words he wanted to say lodged painfully in his throat. He didn’t know how to tell you everything he felt, how to bridge the chasm that had grown between you over these past months. But as he stood there, looking at you with tears streaming down your face, the frustration and hurt bubbled up inside of him, and a bitter anger began to mix with the sadness. You were the one who pushed me away, he thought, the one who kept pretending not to care, and now you wanted to be angry at me?

“Do you...” Spencer started, swallowing thickly, the words like sandpaper on his tongue. “Do you still want to see each other?” He knew it was the wrong thing to ask, that it cut too close to the surface, but he needed to know. Needed to know if you wanted to keep doing this—whatever this was.

“For sex?” you scoffed, your voice cracking as you looked at him, the accusation plain on your face.

He nodded noncommittally, his face tight, unable to mask the frustration that twisted inside him.

And that was it. You let out a sob, turning your face away from him, your shoulders shaking as you pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle the sounds. Without another word, you walked away quickly, your steps hurried and uneven as if you needed to get as far away from him as possible.

Spencer stayed rooted to the spot, his feet unwilling to move, his mind racing with everything he should’ve said but didn’t. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you how much he loved you, how he’d been holding back because he was afraid you didn’t feel the same. But he didn’t. He just watched you go, the cold air biting at his cheeks, his breath puffing out in desperate clouds as he let you walk away.

And he felt that sick, familiar emptiness settle in again—worse than before, knowing he’d just let you slip through his fingers.

Eventually Spencer walked back into O’Keefe’s like he was on autopilot, like someone else was moving his body for him while he watched from a distance. The noise of the bar—the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation—washed over him like static, muted and hollow. All he could feel was the cold emptiness in his chest, the lingering sting of your words echoing in his mind. I fell in love with you... It's fine, you don't have to say it back.

He sat down at the booth mechanically, his movements jerky and disconnected, and immediately felt the eyes of his team on him. The questions came quickly, concern laced in every voice, but Spencer could hardly focus on any of them, his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“Hey, kid, what happened?” Derek’s voice cut through the fog, his tone gentle but firm, and Spencer felt the weight of his gaze, the protective instinct of a friend who could sense something was very wrong.

Spencer didn’t look up as he answered, staring blankly at the beer bottle in front of him. “She wasn’t feeling good,” he mumbled, hoping his voice didn’t waver. “She... left.”

“What?” JJ’s voice was soft but urgent, leaning in to catch his eyes. “Did something happen between you two?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer replied quickly, almost too quickly, forcing a tight-lipped smile that looked more like a grimace. He took a sip of his drink, the bitter taste filling his mouth, but it did nothing to dull the ache in his chest. “She just... wasn’t feeling well. Needed to go home.”

The team fell into a tense silence, and he could feel their eyes on him, searching, probing for the real reason behind your sudden departure. Everyone had seen you two together, had seen the way you’d looked at each other. It was an unspoken truth, and now, they could all tell something had changed, something was deeply wrong.

“Spence...” JJ began again, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled away slightly, trying to maintain what little composure he still had.

“Really, I’m fine,” he said, the words sharp in a way that was unlike him. He didn't want to talk about it, didn’t want to let the floodgates open and risk breaking down right here, in front of everyone. The team exchanged uneasy glances, but they didn’t push, sensing that this wasn’t just a lovers’ spat, that whatever had happened between you and Spencer was something bigger than they could grasp.

And so they let him be, filling the silence with half-hearted jokes and forced smiles as they tried to keep the night light, but the tension sat heavy between them. All the while, Spencer just sat there, staring into his drink, feeling like he was watching someone else go through the motions of this moment. Like the real him was still outside, staring after you as you walked away, trying to figure out when everything had gone so wrong.

—

You love him?

The words played on a loop in Spencer’s head, each syllable echoing through the empty spaces you’d left behind. You told him that night, outside O’Keefe’s, voice thick with hurt and vulnerability. You, the woman who occupied his thoughts, who made him feel things he’d never felt for anyone else—you loved him. And he’d just let you walk away.

He'd stood there stunned that night, unable to speak, unable to process the revelation that the woman he’d reluctantly, desperately fallen for felt the same way. In the days that followed, he convinced himself that it was for the best, that maybe this was the closure he needed. You’d go back to your separate lives, and he'd be free of the endless cycle of wanting more than you could give. Maybe he'd be able to finally move on.

But that conviction was short-lived. It only took a few days of silence, a few nights spent staring up at the ceiling of his apartment, to realize how hollow that freedom was. And the weeks that passed after that night only twisted the knife deeper.

When there was an issue with the team’s tech and Penelope wasn’t around, it wasn’t you who showed up to fix it. It was some other IT person—someone with none of your charm, none of your wit. No one who would tease him, brush your fingers lightly against his arm as you leaned over his keyboard. And when they walked in, clipboard in hand, an unfamiliar face staring back at him, the ache in Spencer’s chest grew. He’d check his phone constantly, almost obsessively, hoping for a text, an email, anything. But his inbox remained empty, the silence between you growing deeper and more suffocating each day.

He started noticing the way his team watched him—the way they traded glances when he walked into the bullpen with his usual cup of coffee, the way their conversations dipped into softer tones when he came near. It was pity. Pity for the man who let his girlfriend walk away, who didn’t know how to make it right. They didn't know the truth—that you were never really his girlfriend. That you were never really his at all.

He missed you. He missed you so much that it became unbearable, the absence of you like a phantom limb—something he could still feel, but couldn’t hold, couldn’t touch. He missed the way you’d laugh with the team at O’Keefe’s, the way your eyes would meet his across the table, a secret smile shared between the two of you. He missed the way your hair would brush against his cheek when you leaned in to whisper something in his ear, the way your lips felt on his when the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled together.

And suddenly, O’Keefe’s wasn’t fun anymore. It was just another reminder of what he’d lost. Every time he walked in, he’d expect to see you there—half-hoping, half-dreading the sight of you. But you never came. You never showed, and it left an emptiness in the seat beside him that no one else could fill.

The nights became the worst part. The silence in his apartment was deafening. He would lie in bed, replaying every moment you’d shared, every touch, every laugh, every whispered word. He could still see the way you’d looked at him when you told him you were in love with him—how your voice wavered with fear, how you tried to cover it up with a laugh as if you could take the words back as soon as they left your lips. He’d let you say them, he’d heard the truth in them, and still, he let you walk away. What kind of fool lets the person they love walk away?

And so it hit him, with a force that left him breathless: Even if you kept him at an arm’s length forever, even if you could never give him everything he wanted, he would still want you. He didn’t need you to be perfect, didn’t need you to promise him the world—he just needed you. The way you made him laugh, the way you challenged him, the way you made his life feel full and bright and real. Even if it meant spending more nights pretending and holding back, Spencer would take it all just to have you close.

Because a life without you—without your smile, your laugh, your presence—is a life he no longer wanted to live. He missed you. He loved you. And he was willing to fight for you, even if it meant picking up the broken pieces of what you both had shattered, putting them back together in any way that would keep you from slipping through his fingers again.

Once Spencer made up his mind, there was a fire inside him—a determination to make things right, to get you back, to show you that he was willing to do whatever it took. He’d spent too many weeks stuck in silence, stuck in regret, and if there was even the smallest chance you’d have him back, he was ready to fight for it. He was already forming a plan in his mind, trying to figure out the words to say, the way to make you see that he’d give you everything he had, no matter how messy or complicated it got.

But before he could put that plan into action, it all came crashing down around him.

It was Penelope who stopped him in his tracks. He’d been pacing the bullpen, trying to work up the nerve to figure out how to reach out to you—how to make that first move—when he saw the look on her face. She was standing near her desk, files forgotten in her hands, her eyes fixed on him with that soft, all-too-knowing expression. And it was enough to make his stomach twist uncomfortably, anxiety clawing at his chest.

“What’s up, Garcia?” he asked, hesitantly, trying to keep his voice steady as he approached her.

She gave him a sympathetic smile, the kind of smile that said she knew far more than she was letting on, and it made Spencer's heart sink. He hated that look, the pity, the way it made him feel like he was already defeated. “Did you hear?” she asked, her voice gentle, as if she was trying to break bad news without shattering him completely.

“...hear what?” he replied, suddenly on edge, the nerves tightening in his chest like a vice. He felt like the floor was slipping out from under him, and he braced himself for whatever she was about to say.

“Oh, honey.” Penelope sighed deeply, placing a hand over her heart as if the words hurt her as much as they were about to hurt him. “Tony in IT asked Y/N out.”

And just like that, Spencer felt his entire world tilt, his heart dropping straight to his stomach. It felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him, leaving him stunned and spinning. He was too late.

“Tony?” he whispered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “They... they asked her out?”

Penelope nodded, looking at him with that same expression—so much pity, so much sympathy that it made him want to scream. “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. “I heard it from them this morning. They said she seemed like she could use a night out, so they asked her.”

Spencer’s mind raced, every thought muddling together, tangled up in the image of you and Tony, smiling, laughing, kissing. He could barely think straight. Tony—some other person—getting the chance to be close to you, to make you happy. Someone else doing what he’d been too afraid to do. And he knew Tony; they were charming, easygoing, exactly the type of person who could sweep you off your feet, and that thought twisted the knife deeper.

“Did she... did she say yes?” Spencer asked, barely recognizing his own voice, which came out quiet and small, barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Penelope said, her hand gently touching his arm. “But... Spencer, I just thought you should know. In case...” She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence, because Spencer understood exactly what she meant. In case it was too late. In case Tony had already taken the place he’d left open.

He stood there, numb, the walls of the bullpen closing in on him as reality settled in like a heavy weight on his chest. He was too late, and the plan he’d spent days building up in his mind shattered into pieces at his feet, leaving him standing in the wreckage of what could’ve been.

—

You stood there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, not knowing exactly how to respond to Tony’s hopeful smile. Their offer to take you out caught you off guard, and for a moment you just stared at them, trying to form a polite letdown that wouldn’t hurt their feelings. After all, you thought to yourself, Tony was one of the nicest people in the building.

“Oh, Tony,” you sighed eventually, feeling a wave of guilt for having to reject their offer. “That is so sweet, I’m just... not looking for anything right now.”

Tony’s smile didn’t falter for a second. They nodded their head, understanding written all over their face as if they’d half expected your answer. “That’s alright!” They said quickly, raising their hands in a surrendering gesture. “We could still go out as friends. You seem like you could use one.”

The kindness in their voice, the way they looked at you like they genuinely wanted to help, made your heart warm. You hadn’t expected them to pivot so easily, to offer friendship instead of romance, and it felt... nice. Like maybe you weren’t as alone as you felt. “Thank you,” you said softly, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes for reasons you couldn’t quite pin down. “I—I do need a friend. That would be great.”

It had been a miserable few weeks, a spiral of regret and heartbreak after you’d confessed your love to Spencer. The words had slipped out before you could stop them, unguarded and vulnerable, and you had no idea what you were thinking when you said it. All you knew was that watching him flirt with someone else made something in you snap, and suddenly all those bottled-up emotions had spilled out, uncontrolled. But the second the words were in the air, you’d known it was a mistake. You were perfectly content to hold it back forever, to let your love for him simmer quietly in the background if it meant keeping Spencer in your life. But now? Now you’d ruined everything. Your feelings had scared him away, pushed him to his limits, and left you standing in the wake of it all, heartbroken and alone.

Tony’s kind offer was the first real light you’d had in weeks, and as you met their warm, friendly eyes, you felt a small sense of relief. You could use a friend—someone who didn’t come with all the baggage of unrequited love, someone who just wanted to spend time with you without expectations.

“Do you want to go to O’Keefe’s?” Tony suggested, their smile widening.

You shook your head quickly, feeling a lump form in your throat at the thought of that place. Too many memories, you thought, and the idea of walking in there without Spencer, without pretending you were a couple in front of the team, or, God, running into him, felt like too much. “No, uh, I go there too much,” you said with a forced laugh, trying to keep your tone light. “Let’s try something new, yeah?”

Tony nodded, the same easy smile still on their face, and you felt a flicker of hope—maybe this would be good for you. Maybe spending time with someone who wanted nothing more than friendship would help you heal, help you forget all the mess and confusion that Spencer left behind. Maybe you could start to feel like yourself again. Or at least pretend.

—

You hadn’t gotten dressed up in weeks—not since that night. Ever since then, you hadn’t felt the need to look nice for anyone. After all, who was there to impress when you weren't leaving the house? Your days blurred together in a cycle of work, staying in, and trying to forget the ache that came with remembering. So you fell into a pattern of sweatpants, oversized shirts, and fuzzy socks.

But tonight was different. You wanted to make an effort, to show Tony that you appreciated their kindness, their willingness to be there for you without expecting anything in return. So you stood in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection as you did your hair, fixed your face and slipped into an outfit that made you feel like yourself again—put together, confident, maybe even a little happy.

When you met Tony at the place they suggested, a new bar called Brandy’s, you couldn’t help but laugh at how different it was from O’Keefe’s. It was sailor-themed, with ropes hanging from the ceiling, ship wheels mounted on the walls, and bartenders dressed in sailor uniforms, stripes and all. The vibe was lighter, more playful, and you were grateful for that. You didn’t need to be weighed down by memories tonight—you just wanted to relax and forget about everything for a little while.

“Hey!” Tony called out when they saw you walking in, waving from the bar. You made your way over, a genuine smile breaking across your face for the first time in what felt like ages.

“Hey,” you greeted back, sliding onto the barstool beside them. “This place is... something.”

Tony grinned, sliding a drink menu your way. “Yeah, thought it’d be a fun change of pace. And, uh, if you’re in the mood for anything fruity or with a silly name, this is definitely the place.”

You chuckled, scanning the menu. “Well, in that case, I might just have to try whatever sounds the most ridiculous.”

The two of you laughed, and for a brief moment, the pain of the last few weeks faded into the background. You weren’t just the girl who told Spencer Reid she loved him and was left with the silence afterward. Tonight, you were just you—someone who could enjoy a night out with a new friend, a fruity cocktail, and maybe even the chance to find a little bit of joy again.

You sipped your Seas the Day, topped with a tiny paper anchor and an unnecessary but charming amount of fruit garnish—and let the flavors wash over your tongue. It was sweet, tangy, and almost too much, but it was exactly what you needed to cut through the weight that had been pressing down on your chest for weeks. And as Tony launched into another joke, punctuating each punchline with an easy laugh, you could feel that weight start to melt away, just a little bit.

“And then, get this,” Tony continued, eyes bright as they leaned closer, “the guy looks at the bartender and says, ‘You call that a shipwreck? Looks more like a dinghy disaster to me!’”

You couldn't help but burst out laughing, the ridiculousness of the joke amplified by Tony’s delivery. It was silly, light, and the kind of humor that didn’t require you to overthink or analyze or worry—just laugh. And it felt good. The kind of good that had been missing for so long, you almost forgot what it felt like.

The stress that had been holding your shoulders tight seemed to leave with each sip of your drink, each joke that Tony threw your way. They were a natural storyteller, bringing every moment to life with wild hand gestures and exaggerated voices that made you forget where you were, who you were supposed to be missing. The bar around you blurred into background noise, a sea of laughter and warmth, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you were floating—untethered from the thoughts of regret, from the sadness of everything that happened with Spencer.

It was nice, being around someone who didn’t ask for more, who didn’t know the messy, tangled history you were trying to leave behind. Tony’s company was easy, free from expectation. And as you laughed over their jokes and sipped your drink, you let yourself relax into it, letting the night carry you away to a place where your heart didn't feel so heavy. Even if it was just for tonight, it was enough.

You and Tony stumbled out of Brandy’s hours later, practically hanging off each other in a giggling mess. The night had been a perfect distraction, and you were grateful to Tony for every dumb joke, every ridiculous story. The cool night air hit your face, making you laugh even harder as you both swayed down the sidewalk, your head light from the drinks and the company.

But your laughter stopped cold when you heard your name called out from behind you. You froze, your smile faltering as you turned your head to see Spencer and his team, clustered together on the sidewalk just a short way down. For a second, you just stared, feeling like the world had paused around you. It seemed you weren’t the only one searching for a new spot to drown out reality tonight. You could see the surprise etched on their faces—JJ, Emily, Derek, Penelope—and Spencer, whose eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart jump in your chest. You could practically feel the tension crackling between you, hanging heavy in the air like fog, and it made your stomach twist.

But Tony was blissfully unaware, their good mood carrying them right through the awkwardness as they spotted Penelope. “Penny!” Tony cheered, bounding over to give her a hug, their voice warm and full of excitement. “What are you doing here? Fancy running into you like this!”

Penelope’s expression softened at Tony’s hug, but you could see the uncertainty in her eyes as they flickered between you, Tony, and Spencer. You followed Tony like a shadow, your smile fading into something tight and uncomfortable as you kept your eyes downcast, trailing behind and watching your feet move over the pavement. You couldn't look at Spencer, couldn’t face the way his expression would cut through you. So you just kept your focus on Tony’s shoes, willing the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Uh... hey, Tony,” Penelope greeted, a little off-kilter as she glanced over at Spencer, who hadn’t said a word, his face pale and unreadable. You could see her mind racing, torn between wanting to ask Tony about your supposed "date" and trying to protect Spencer from whatever mess was about to unfold. But sweet, tipsy Tony wasn’t picking up on any of it. They were still riding high on the night, blissfully unaware of the tense energy radiating around you all like a storm cloud about to burst.

“Have you guys met Y/N?” Tony asked excitedly, their arm waving in your direction, as if presenting you to a crowd for the first time. “She’s the best—totally fun to go out with. You all should come out with us next time!”

You wanted to sink into the pavement. Your eyes darted up just long enough to see the team's reactions—their hesitant smiles, the uncertainty, the surprise. And Spencer... Spencer just stared, his jaw tight, his eyes dark as they flickered between you and Tony, like he was trying to make sense of the scene in front of him, to piece together how you’d gone from loving him to laughing with someone else.

Your breath caught in your throat, and all you could do was force a smile and nod along, pretending like this wasn’t the most awkward moment of your life, like you weren’t standing here, your whole heart laid bare and torn apart in front of the very people you’d tried so hard to avoid.

“Yeah, we know Y/N,” JJ said with a smile, trying to keep things light despite the thick tension in the air. She gave a small wave, her eyes soft and encouraging. “Hi.”

“Hey, guys,” you replied, your voice tight and strained, but you managed to look up for just a second, flashing a quick smile at the group. You could see the mix of emotions on their faces—Emily with her raised brow, JJ’s gentle attempt at normalcy, and Derek, his expression far harder to read.

Derek’s face was set in a hardened line as he studied you and Tony, clearly trying to piece together what was going on. “This a date, or something?” he asked bluntly, his tone skeptical as his eyes flicked from you to Spencer, who was standing stiffly to the side, now staring down at the ground.

Tony burst into laughter at that, the sound light and airy, cutting through the tension. “No! I asked Y/N on a date, but she said nooo,” they said, dragging out the word with a playful giggle. “We’re just friends. Really good friends, right?” They turned back to look at you, and their smile was so earnest, so kind, that you felt a small weight lift from your chest.

“Yeah,” you agreed, returning Tony's smile as best you could. “Really good friends.” You were grateful for their lightheartedness, the way they so easily cleared up the misunderstanding without any pressure, any drama. You could almost breathe again.

“Are you ready?” you asked, hoping to get away before the tension could bubble up again, before you had to look at Spencer and face whatever emotions were swirling in his eyes.

Tony nodded enthusiastically, linking their arm through yours as they tugged you gently away, back into the night, in search of a cab. You didn’t look back, even as you could feel the team's eyes burning into your back, the weight of their stares heavy on your shoulders.

As you disappeared around the corner, the team shared glances, murmurs of confusion and disbelief mixing in the cool air. “What the hell was that?” Emily finally said under her breath, crossing her arms and looking at Spencer, who hadn’t moved an inch since you walked away.

“Does anyone know what's going on with them?” JJ asked softly, her concern written plainly on her face as she glanced at each of her teammates.

But Spencer just shook his head, his jaw clenched tight as he stared after you, watching the space you’d disappeared into, as if willing you to come back, to explain, to make everything make sense again. But you were gone, leaving him standing there, alone and uncertain, with the words he wished he’d said still lodged in his throat.

Penelope spoke up, breaking the uneasy silence with a hesitant, thoughtful tone. “Tony told me he asked her out, so I guess it turned out to be a friend date,” she explained, trying to piece together what had happened with as much optimism as she could muster. But her eyes flickered to Spencer, full of concern and an almost desperate need to make things better. “But that’s good, right?” she asked, her voice a little higher than usual, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

Every pair of eyes turned to Spencer then, and he felt like he was shrinking under their intense stares. He could sense their silent questions, their confusion, and their concern, all boring into him like a spotlight. He didn’t know what to say, how to make it right—he just knew that something felt very wrong.

Derek’s sigh broke the tension, and his hand landed heavily on Spencer’s shoulder, grounding him. “Listen, kid,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’ve been giving you your space about the breakup, but I think it’s time you talk about it.”

Spencer nodded slowly, knowing deep down that Derek was right. He had kept this locked up for too long, and he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, suffocating him. So, without another word, the five of them made their way into Brandy’s. They found a booth tucked into a quiet corner and ordered a pitcher of beer, the clinking of glasses and hum of the bar settling into the background as Spencer prepared to speak.

It all came spilling out—the truth, the messy, complicated story of what had really happened between you and him. How you’d started as casual hookups, how that grew into something more, how it was all tangled up in silences and unspoken feelings, until finally, you told him you loved him. And how he let you walk away. He felt the vulnerability of it, laying everything bare, every mistake, every regret, and the team’s reactions were a mix of shock, confusion, and sympathy.

“Why didn’t you tell her how you felt?” Penelope asked softly, her eyes wide and filled with empathy, trying to wrap her head around it all.

Spencer shrugged, staring down into his glass. He wished he could explain it better, wished he could pinpoint the exact moment he decided to let you go, but it was all so muddled now. “I guess I was mad at her,” he said, his voice small, and it hurt to say it out loud, to admit it.

“What for?” Emily asked, leaning in closer, her brows knitting together in concern and bewilderment.

Spencer looked up, meeting each of their eyes before letting his gaze drop back down to his hands, which JJ was now holding tightly, her thumbs rubbing gentle circles on his knuckles. “She... she liked me—loved me—the whole time, or at least some of it, and didn’t tell me,” he admitted, the bitterness of those words tasting sour in his mouth. “I... I thought she just wanted sex, that she didn't care about me the way I cared about her. And then, she told me, and it felt like a lie, like... like she’d been hiding something from me all along.”

Penelope’s face softened in understanding, and JJ squeezed his hands tighter. “But, Spencer,” she said gently, “you were doing the same thing, weren’t you? Hiding how you felt?”

Spencer nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping as the weight of it all settled on him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I guess I was. And by the time she told me... I was too angry to see it for what it was. I let her walk away because... because I thought I had to protect myself. But I think I just... made everything worse.”

The team sat there in silence, absorbing Spencer’s words, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, of everything that had gone unspoken between you and him. It was Derek who finally broke the silence, his voice carrying a note of gentle insistence. “Well, you gotta tell her now,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

The others nodded in agreement, small hums of assent as they turned their eyes back to Spencer, a mixture of encouragement and urgency on their faces. Emily leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, and tried to lift the mood, offering a teasing suggestion. “Maybe take her coffee tomorrow,” she said, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “She looked like a precursor to a hangover tonight.”

The attempt at lightening the mood worked; the table filled with quiet giggles, the tension lifting just enough to let out a shared breath. Even Spencer cracked a smile, the knot in his chest loosening just a little as he let himself imagine it—showing up to see you, holding your favorite coffee in his hands like a peace offering, and finally saying all the things he’d held back for so long.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, the word coming out like a sigh of relief. “I was going to tell her, but then Tony asked her out, and I thought I lost my chance.” His smile faltered as he said it, that same feeling of panic creeping back in, that sinking sensation that he’d already missed his window and that any attempt to reach you would be too late, too little.

“But Tony’s not a threat,” JJ chimed in gently, squeezing his hand again. “You heard them tonight—they’re just friends.”

“Besides, it doesn’t matter who else asks her out,” Derek said, his voice firm as he looked Spencer straight in the eyes. “What matters is how you feel. You love her, man. You gotta tell her that. Don’t let some hang-up stop you from getting what you really want.”

“Yeah, Reid,” Penelope added softly, her voice carrying that loving, encouraging tone that always managed to make him feel safe. “You two... you need to talk. Really talk.”

Spencer nodded, feeling a swell of determination rising within him, the first real sense of hope he’d felt in months. He knew they were right—he had to try. Even if it meant risking rejection, even if it meant being vulnerable in a way he’d never been before, he needed to tell you how he felt.

So as he sat there, surrounded by his friends, Spencer began to plan how he would show you that he wanted more than just fleeting nights and tangled sheets—he wanted you. All of you. Everything.

—

You woke up to the unpleasant stickiness of dried drool on your face. Your mouth felt like sandpaper, parched from a night of laughter, late hours, and whatever concoction of sugary alcohol you’d downed at Brandy’s. But, thankfully, your half-drunk self had taken care of the essentials the night before, leaving a full water bottle by your bedside. You reached over, popped it open, and chugged gratefully, the water flooding your senses with relief as you rehydrated.

The hangover was mild, nothing too aggressive—it wasn’t like you’d drunk all that much. You knew deep down you’d mostly been drunk on the fun of the night, on Tony’s kindness, on the fleeting joy of having someone distract you from your thoughts, your heartache. It made waking up easier, even if your head throbbed a little when you sat up.

With a groan, you pulled yourself out of bed, the coolness of the floor grounding you as you stretched, taking your time to shake off the morning fog. You went through the familiar motions: washing your face, brushing your hair, and scrubbing your teeth.

You didn’t have any real plans for the day, just the usual routine of catching up on chores, maybe grabbing coffee later if you felt up for it. But today felt a little lighter, a little easier. And as you made your way into the kitchen, the morning sun spilling through the window and warming the floor beneath your feet, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this day wouldn’t be so hard after all.

But then a knock sounded from the front door of your apartment, startling you. You paused, trying to figure out who it could be. I don’t remember ordering any packages, you thought, and my neighbors barely know I exist. You waited a moment, hoping maybe whoever it was would just leave, but the knock came again—this time more persistent, the sound echoing through your quiet apartment.

You hated answering the door. Not because you were afraid of who might be there, but because you hated the possibility of small talk, the awkwardness of forced pleasantries, the interruptions to your peaceful solitude. It's one of the reasons you went into IT, the comfort of working with machines and problems that could be solved with logic, not conversation. So you stood there for another beat, hoping to hear the telltale sound of retreating footsteps. But there was nothing. Just silence, and then, annoyingly, another knock.

“God,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes as you stomped toward the door. Whoever it was, they were persistent, and clearly weren’t getting the hint that you just wanted to be left alone.

You swung open the door, your frustration ready to spill over as you began to speak, “Hello—”

But the words caught in your throat the moment you saw who was standing there.

“Spencer?” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, the shock hitting you like a splash of cold water. There he was, standing right in front of you, looking just as surprised to see you as you were to see him, his face a mixture of hope, nerves, and something unreadable that made your stomach flip. He was holding two cups of coffee, and it felt surreal, like a scene pulled straight from a dream you hadn’t quite woken up from.

“Hi,” he said, offering a small, hesitant smile, and suddenly the world around you seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of you standing there, the morning hanging heavy with words unspoken.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion and something close to disbelief. You were still trying to process the fact that Spencer was standing in front of you, holding coffee like this was something normal—something that happened often.

Spencer shifted his weight nervously, glancing down at the two cups in his hands before looking back up at you, searching your face. “I—uh, I thought I’d bring you coffee,” he stammered, the words sounding more like a question than a statement. “To help with... the hangover?” He trailed off, looking at you with those wide, earnest eyes that made it impossible to be mad, even if you wanted to be.

You raised a brow, not quite sure what to make of this sudden gesture. But after a moment, you stepped aside, holding the door open wider. “Okay,” you said, your voice softer now, and gestured for him to come in.

Spencer hesitated just for a second before walking in, and you watched as his eyes moved across the space, taking it all in. The apartment felt different now, seeing it in the daylight. The wide, almost floor-to-ceiling windows were uncovered, letting the morning light stream in and cast warm shadows on the walls. You’d always liked the way the plants scattered around the room bathed in the sunlight, their leaves turning vibrant shades of green, and the way the fabric of the couch gleamed just a bit in the soft light. But Spencer had never seen it like this. He’d only ever been here at night, when the only illumination was the dim glow of lamps and the city lights outside.

“Those are... nice windows,” he said suddenly, as if noticing them for the first time, his eyes lingering on the bright view of the landscape beyond. He sounded almost surprised, like he hadn’t expected your space to be like this—bright, open, comforting and calm.

“Thank you…” you replied, a little awkwardly, still trying to wrap your head around why Spencer was here, in your apartment, holding coffee and making small talk about windows. You took the cup from his hand, your fingers brushing his briefly, and felt that familiar warmth spread up your arm, making your chest feel tight. You wanted to say something—anything—to cut through the tension hanging between you. But you didn’t know where to start.

You both stood there for a moment, as you searched each other's faces for answers.

“How are you?” Spencer asked softly, and the simplicity of the question caught you off guard. It was the same question he’d asked months ago, the one that had started everything between you, the beginning of the friends-with-benefits arrangement that had rapidly spiraled. And now, hearing those words again felt like a punch to the gut, bringing all those memories rushing back to the surface.

You froze, trying to decide how to answer. There were a million things you wanted to say, a thousand ways to tell him how hard it had been, how much you missed him, how your heart ached every time you thought about him, and how you’d felt so stupid for letting yourself fall. But the words tangled in your throat, and you didn’t know which to pick.

“I’ve been... better,” you finally said, opting for honesty. What was the point in pretending, anyway? You’d already given up any sense of dignity around this man. You weren’t going to lie to him now, not after everything that had happened, not when he’d come all the way here.

Spencer's eyes softened, his expression turning pained at your words. He took a small step closer, like he wanted to reach out, but his hand hovered just inches from yours before he pulled it back, uncertainty clouding his face. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been... pretty awful, too.”

You looked down, the coffee cup warm in your hands, and nodded. “Yeah, well... that's what happens, I guess,” you mumbled. “When you... you know, ruin everything.” Your laugh came out bitter and hollow as you gestured at yourself, and you hated how raw and vulnerable you felt, like every emotion was sitting on the surface, ready to spill over.

“I don't think you ruined anything,” he said softly, his voice so gentle it made you want to cry. “Or at least... not beyond fixing.” Spencer's gaze was steady, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like he was really seeing you—like the walls you’d both built around yourselves were crumbling, leaving nothing but truth between you.

You shook your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears from falling. “Then why are you here, Spencer?” You forced the words out, your voice trembling with every question you’d held back for so long. “Why now? What do you want from me?”

You hadn’t meant to sound so broken, so defeated, but the way Spencer looked at you made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be strong anymore. Not with him. And it terrified you, how much you wanted to hear whatever he was going to say next.

“I just want you,” Spencer said, his voice plain and sure, like it was the simplest truth in the world. The words hung between you, raw and unadorned, and for a moment, you could barely breathe, barely process what he'd just said.

Your eyes met his, searching for any hesitation, any sign that he might take it back—that this was just another moment you’d misread. But there was none. His eyes were steady, intent, and every part of him seemed to lean toward you as if he was ready to close the distance that had kept you apart for so long.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart pound painfully in your chest. “Spencer...” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the words caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. “But... you said you didn’t... I thought—” The excuses tumbled over themselves in your mind, but none of them could erase the way he was looking at you now, with all the longing and tenderness you’d ever wanted to let yourself see.

Spencer shook his head, taking that last step closer, his body just inches from yours, and this time, there was no hesitation, no fear in his touch. He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, and you felt the familiar warmth of his fingers against your skin. It was like everything else in the world faded away, leaving just the two of you, in this tiny pocket of time where all that mattered was what you both felt.

“I never got to say anything,” he said softly, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You left before I could.” His thumb stroked your cheek in a tender, slow rhythm, and the touch was so gentle, so careful, it made your heart ache.

“You asked if I wanted to keep having sex,” you mumbled, your voice cracking as you forced yourself to look at him, to see the truth in his eyes.

Spencer let out a breath, one that seemed to carry all the frustration and pain of the past few weeks. “You inferred that that’s what I was asking,” he corrected gently. “And maybe it was, in some way... I don’t know what I was going to say then. I was so conflicted, so... scared. Scared of wanting you, scared of losing you, scared of loving you. But... I’m not anymore,” he continued, and there was a steadiness to his voice now, a certainty that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. “I know what I want. I love you, Y/N.”

The words fell softly between you, but they felt like fireworks going off in your chest, like every broken piece inside you was being stitched back together by the way he said them. And as you stood there, his hand on your cheek, your lips parted in shock and your eyes filled with tears, you could see it—all the love, all the vulnerability, all the things he’d been too afraid to show you before.

Your breath hitched, and you placed your hand over his, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek as you let the truth of his words sink in. “You... you love me?” you asked, as if saying it aloud would make it more real, as if you needed to hear it again to believe that it was really happening.

Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he smiled, a small, fragile thing that grew more certain with every second. “I love you,” he repeated, each word clear and steady. “I have for a long time. And I want to be with you, not just... physically, not just as friends with benefits. I want all of it. I want you. Everything.”

You felt a sob building in your throat, but it wasn’t a sad sound—it was relief, joy, everything you’d been holding back crashing over you all at once. And as you leaned in, your lips finding his in a kiss that was soft, tender, and full of all the love that had gone unspoken between you for so long, you felt something fall into place, something that had been missing finally becoming whole.

The kiss deepened, becoming heated and urgent, both of you rediscovering the taste and feel of each other like it was the first time all over again. You could feel the way Spencer’s body leaned into yours, could feel how badly you both wanted to close every inch of space between you. And for a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your hands tangling in his hair, his arm winding around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

But then you pulled back, breaking the kiss with a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against his as you tried to steady yourself. “Wait, wait,” you managed to say between breaths, “I don’t—don’t want to have sex. Not for a while.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, the confusion clear on his face, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed close, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the genuine concern there, the way he was listening to every word. “Okay,” he nodded slowly, voice gentle. “That’s okay, sweetheart. Can I... can I ask why?”

You let out a sigh, trying to find the right words. It was hard to say aloud, especially when the temptation to be with him physically was so strong, when every part of your body ached to feel close to him again. But this was important—this was different. “I just... I want to be with you,” you explained softly, meeting his eyes, wanting him to see how much you meant it. “And get to know you in every other way first. No rushing into things. I want... everything to feel right.”

And there it was—the truth that you’d been holding back for so long. That what you wanted with him wasn’t just fleeting, wasn’t just something that could be captured in a night. You wanted the full, messy, beautiful truth of being with Spencer—without the fear that it was only about the physical.

Spencer’s face softened, his confusion melting away into a wide, affectionate grin, one that filled his whole face with light and made your heart do that little flip it always did whenever he smiled like that. “I am completely on board with that,” he said, his voice full of warmth, no hesitation in his tone. “I’ll take all the time you need. And I’ll be here for all of it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a surge of joy and relief bubble up in your chest as you wrapped your arms around him again. “Aye aye, captain,” you teased, and the two of you laughed together, the sound filling the quiet morning and making everything feel hopeful and new.

And as you held each other close, and stood together, just soaking in the moment, you knew that for the first time, you were going to do this right—take your time, learn every little thing about each other, and make it real.

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